


Causing discord is a full-time occupation

by YumGrapeJuice



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :), Blood and Injury, Enemies to Lovers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing, M/M, Mild Cursing, Minecraft Manhunt, Minecraft-Typical Violence, Pining, Realistic Minecraft, but not pretend, i saw this prompt on tumblr ages ago but i have no idea where exactly, lol, no respawning smile, nothing explicit though, the first two parts can be read as one-shots, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumGrapeJuice/pseuds/YumGrapeJuice
Summary: It scared him—seeing Dream like this scared him. He was never supposed to be this… vulnerable.The dagger in his hands was much heavier now. It would take one swing to finish Dream off. In the state he was in, he’d never be able to deflect it.And yet, George was transfixed in place.“Sorry,” Dream murmured, and it was so quiet George had to step forward a bit to hear. “I just didn’t… know where else to go.”His last words were nothing more than a breath, and with them, his legs buckled under him, letting his body fall.Or, Dream gets injured and shows up at George's doorstep. This wasn't in the hunters' manual.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 423
Kudos: 1461





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sir please this is my emotional support trope
> 
> you know the drill, the moment they're not okay with it, this is going poof :))

George hated times like these. At first, he’d hoped it would just be a couple of days. Maybe a week at most. But the fourth one was ending and they still hadn’t picked up a trail. They had lost him somewhere to the east of the Rivolza river, and hadn’t been able to recover since, which was not doing wonders for any of their nerves. Still, they had to keep moving, keep predicting, and, according to Bad (who, let’s be honest, was the only one who knew how to do this whole predicting thing), scouring this town’s area was their best bet right now. Something about triangulation, convenience, maybe even the wind, hell if George knew at this point. It had always worked in the past, surely this time would be the same.

Nevertheless, it was a little past ten in the evening on their fifth day staying at this village, and everyone’s patience was growing thin. If he had to guess, they’d be on the move again soon. George would miss the commodities of living under a warm roof, safe from the outside’s dangers, but he had never been one to enjoy sitting still for long. Didn’t do well for his frustration.

This day had been particularly sour, as they had begun running out of coin and someone had to stay behind in town to try to earn some. George, of course, drew the short end of the stick, so whilst Bad and Sapnap were out in the woods searching for any sort of trail of their target, George was stuck pulling sacks of potatoes and fixing roofs. Didn’t do well for his frustration, too. At least the people were nice.

When dark clouds had begun gathering, threatening to burst at any moment, George had decided to call it a day. Tired and annoyed, he was more than happy to finally flop down on the couch of their rented house and groan to the silent walls. They probably judged him. Or pitied. He wished he could tell the walls to knock it off, he’d groan all he wished.

Not that they would listen.

He was losing his mind, apparently.

Sometime between wondering whether any of this was worth it anymore and what to eat for breakfast, he got a visitor. A young page, delivering a message from Bad and Sapnap. They’d decided to stay out late in town and wander through some inns, try to see if any new information had come up. If any information had come up. They’d take “ _Yeah, my blind son saw some broken twigs like ten miles to the north_ ” by this point. More alone time for him, then. Good. He could continue being tired and annoyed in peace.

Minutes passed, gentle droplets drummed against the window, and George was beginning to grow sleepy. It was nearing eleven, and he was exhausted. He couldn’t be bothered to move from the couch to his bed, and he figured Sapnap and Bad wouldn’t mind if he crashed there for tonight. His back would hate him tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Visions swam behind his eyelids, and he was moments away from going under, when a series of soft knocks rattled him awake. Sighing, George pulled himself up and made his way towards the door. Did they forget their keys or something? Both of them? He’d believe Sapnap would, but Bad? Never. Maybe another page then. Who the hell even ran this late, though. A beggar? A sale-merchant who didn’t understand waking people up near-midnight wasn’t the best business practice?

All these options were viable. He would have accepted any of them, complained a bit, and went back to sleep.

He had failed to consider the non-viable options, though.

With a yawn, he opened the door.

A bloodied mask he hadn’t seen in nearly a month greeted him.

Flight or fight ignited, and George jumped back, the dagger he always carried with him out and in front, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. All remains of sleep had vanished, replaced by a thundering in his ears and a clench of his chest. Thoughts raced a million miles per second, too quick for him to catch onto anything substantial or useful, only screams of _what what what the fuck what_ —

Before he could voice anything, though, the figure spoke:

“Hey, George,” he rasped out, barely audible, and yet George could still hear a fucking _smile_ in his voice.

Yeah, this was definitely who he thought it was.

Not how he’d last seen him, though. Far from it.

He was _wrecked_.

“What the hell are you doing here, Dream?” he demanded, and though he made sure to sound aggressive, he couldn’t help but let confusion seep inside and replace part of his fear.

Dream was leaning against the door frame with his arm, his breaking laboured, shaking from head to toe and absolutely soaked in blood. It took George a frightening moment to realize it was his own blood, evident by the large gashes on his chest and down his abdomen, his much-too-familiar clothes in tatters. Light rain mixed with the red running down his other arm and axe, one that he was barely holding onto, and dripped onto the pavement. He had let that happen perhaps twice in their entire hunt. Blood was far too easy to track, and here he was drenched in it, leaving a clear trail right to George’s house.

It scared him—seeing Dream like this scared him. He was never supposed to be this… _vulnerable._

The dagger in his hands was much heavier now. It would take one swing to finish Dream off. In the state he was in, he’d never be able to deflect it.

And yet, George was transfixed in place.

“Sorry,” Dream murmured, and it was so quiet George had to step forward a bit to hear. “I just didn’t… know where else to go.”

His last words were nothing more than a breath, and with them, his legs buckled under him, letting his body fall. George had half a mind to let him hit the ground, but before that thought could fully register, he was already catching him. God, he was _heavy_ , though, and only through George’s sheer willpower did both of them not topple down.

Dream was out by that point, leaving behind a panicked George to deal with what that entailed.

...What the hell had he gotten himself into?

His mind was too much of a mess to make sense of anything, so George had to focus on one thing at a time. Currently, his position. The door was still open, and he was holding onto an unconscious bloodied man for everyone to see. That wasn’t ideal, so he had to either throw Dream out or drag him in. Both options were terrible for different reasons, but the former would no doubt bring unwanted attention and questions he couldn’t answer, so he chose the one that would at least give him some time to process things. With a grunt, he stumbled backwards, taking Dream with him, until they were in far enough. He lowered Dream to the ground and quickly closed the door, locking it. Alright, mission one complete.

Now he had a bleeding-to-death guy in his hallway. Not just any guy, too.

Fucking _Dream._

The person he and his team had been hunting for over a _year._

The one target that couldn’t stay still long enough for any of them to do any real damage, one that weaved through the trees with barely any effort, laughing, mocking them in that insufferable voice of his when they couldn’t keep up.

The man that made George want to rip his hair out and scream until his throat got raw. He’d made them waste over a year of their lives, all the while treating it all some sort of twisted game.

And now the bastard had the _audacity_ to come at George’s doorstep all beaten and proclaim the sappiest shit ever.

“ _Didn’t know where else to go_ ”? What the hell was that? Did he take George for a goddamn nurse? Even on his deathbed, Dream found a way to insult George, and he wished to just _let the fucker get what he deserved_.

But then, he remembered the spiders and the poison and the cave, and he frowned.

Things could never be that simple.

The clock read a quarter past eleven. Sapnap and Bad shouldn’t be back for awhile still. If they decided to stroll back right around now, George would be in some hot water. Especially considering what he’d decided on doing behind their backs.

Cursing, George began dragging Dream towards the bathroom. He cringed at the trail of blood that was leaving behind, but he’d have to get back to it later. Once finally inside, he laid Dream on the floor and took a moment to catch his breath. He had no idea how the guy managed to be this annoyingly agile with such a tall body. Apparently, though, this time his quick steps had failed to save him.

What could have possibly caused this much damage to _Dream_?

He’d make sure to find out once (if) he woke up. He’d make sure to find out some other things, too.

Now, George was no medic, but being a hunter for the better part of his life came with having to know at least the basics of treating wounds and the like. And with how often they’d had to fend off mobs or survive encounters with people such as Dream, they’d made sure to have enough supplies, too. The prospect of using a large part of those on the man who was the main reason they even needed this much was, to put it mildly, irksome, but George didn’t have much of a choice. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to let this bastard die, might as well go all the way.

Using a pair of scissors he found amongst the bandages, he began peeling off the ruined clothes to reveal the full extent of the wounds. Oh, they were _bad._ The largest one stretched across his entire chest down his abdomen with a few others littered around it, mainly on the ribcage. George worried whether they’d hit any organs, like his lungs. That seemed possible, and he had been breathing weirdly, but would he have even been breathing if he had a punctured lung? Maybe stitches and bandages wouldn’t be enough, maybe he should get a healing potion, they still had a few from the last purchase—

George stilled.

What was he even thinking about?

If Dream went and got his stomach sliced or something, that was none of George’s concern. He could treat the flesh wounds, but, again, he was no _nurse_ , and he wasn’t about to waste precious potions on his goddamn foe.

Now more annoyed at himself than anything, George began working on stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wounds and sewing up the biggest ones. The somewhat unsteady rising and falling of Dream’s chest assured George it was going fine so far, but he couldn’t know how much blood he’d lost and whether it wasn’t fatal. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering there and instead let Dream’s ragged breathing, an undeniable sign of life, calm his rigid nerves.

As much as he cursed Dream out, it would just be unfortunate if he died like this.

He huffed. What an odd thought. Must be the stress. He couldn’t be blamed, he had already been exhausted, and then Dream decided to fall into his arms. Anyone wouldn’t be in their right mind in this predicament.

...But it would be unfortunate. He’d fantasized about seizing Dream up many times, played out many scenarios in his head, each more outlandish than the last. It would always be dramatic, this grand moment, when they’d finally taken the Great Dream down. They’d bring him back to their hometown, in shackles and defeated, and people would gather around, in awe, welcoming them with cheers. How was he supposed to get his triumphant victory if Dream died in such a pathetic way, on the bathroom floor of his hunters whilst one of them was trying to save him? They couldn’t even take the credit for it, too. That just wasn’t acceptable. George did not spend over a year of his life for a prize that was going to slip through his fingers this easily.

So he worked. He disinfected the wounds, made careful and precise stitches, wrapped the bandages around his torso and arms with generosity, making sure it was all snug.

All so later he could inflict the cuts himself.

And if he put more care into it than necessary, it was a secret between him and the bathroom walls.

Once there was nothing more he could do, George leaned back against the counter with a sigh. Even with most of the blood gone, Dream still didn’t look right. All the neat white bandages didn’t look right on him. He wasn’t supposed to have this many bandages. He wasn’t… He wasn’t supposed to be this uncovered. When was the last time someone had seen him without all of his leather and belts and compartments and gloves? Was that even allowed? Was it allowed for him to have this much exposed skin?

George’s breath caught in his throat at the last thought, and he snapped his head away, swearing.

Of course he had _skin_. Even if sometimes it didn’t look like it, Dream was human, like the rest of them. There was nothing surprising about him having a human body.

He sat in silence like this for a couple of moments, occasionally glancing at Dream, having no idea what he was supposed to do now. It was only when he realized the air had grown quieter did he notice Dream’s chest was rising less. Dread prickled at George’s senses and he bit into his lower lip, shutting his eyes. Technically, he had done enough. He had done more than enough, he’d argue. If Dream had come to him too late and had lost too much blood, that wasn’t his fault, that wasn’t his responsibility, he’d done all he could, and that was that, his conscience was clear.

And yet, as the silence grew more silent with each beat, George’s heart stuttered more, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He shot up from the ground and bolted out of the room towards their stash of equipment in a closet in the living room. It took him a few moments to find the potions, and he snatched one with the right label. Thank god for labels, he couldn’t afford messing up because his eyes refused to work properly. He ran back to the bathroom and got down by Dream’s head.

There were a few times in the past when one of their teammates would get unconscious and be injured enough for a potion, so George knew how to administer one without drowning the person. Issue was, usually headwear wouldn’t be part of the equation.

Logically, George knew he could just take the obnoxious smiling mask off.

His hands lingered by its edges.

Dream wouldn’t know. He’d wouldn’t need to know. So what if George saw his face? It wasn’t the end of the world. He didn’t know why the guy was so adamant on hiding behind a mask, anyway. Everyone knew him by it far better than they would by his face. It wasn’t a big deal.

His fingers gripped the borders.

And if George has been curious about what the infamous Dream looked like ever since he’d laid eyes on him, even if he’d never voiced it out loud, so what? He was trying to save his life for god’s sake, surely that made him deserving of at least seeing the man’s face?

Time was running out. George cursed himself for the umpteenth time this evening.

Slowly, he moved the mask up just enough to expose Dream’s mouth. Morality and principles aside, he did need access to it for the potion. Dream would understand.

George shouldn’t care whether Dream would understand.

He should focus on the matter at hand.

He began trickling the potion down Dream’s throat through his parted lips, holding his head up in a secure position. If someone would walk in on him in this instant, he’d have no explanation. That was what he’d say, _I don’t know. He was dying. I didn’t want him to_. Whether that excuse would pass, he wasn’t sure. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to cross that bridge.

Maybe George didn’t need to give him the entire potion. Maybe he would have been fine with only half or something. The thought crossed his mind only when the entire thing was gone, though.

He was exhausted and stressed, and he couldn’t focus and couldn’t think.

It was fine. No one needed to know.

(Oh, if only walls could talk.)

A drop of bright liquid had gathered by the corner of Dream’s lip. George went to wipe it away, slow. He let his fingers linger, right by the outline of the rosy pink.

_Huh. Pretty._

His mind caught up then.

As if burned, George snatched his hand away and shuffled the mask back in place, quick to scramble to his feet and away from Dream.

There, done. He’d done literally as he could now.

George ignored the rising to his face heat with pointed aggression.

Exhaustion and stress. Exhaustion and stress.

He should leave Dream on the floor. His breathing was already getting better, he’d be fine where he was.

But the bathroom was a mess. He should clean it. That would be difficult to do with Dream laying in the middle of it.

And so, with a lot of grunting and swearing, George managed to transfer him to the couch where his body barely fit along its length. He had to hope any residue blood wouldn’t leak through the bandages and taint the fabric. That’d be a pain to get out.

With that accomplished, George stared at the still unconscious Dream for a good minute, and, seeing no signs of the man waking up anytime soon, moved to clean the mess he’d left behind in the corridor and bathroom. It all looked like a damn murder scene. George had never been afraid or unsettled by blood, but the vibrant red trail and splotches against the bright wood still left a foul taste in his mouth. It was baffling how Dream had even managed to make it this far with such injuries.

By now the drizzle had grown into a steady pour. Usually George despised the rain, it messed with their tracking, but now he thanked the gods for this blessing. It’d wipe away the red outside leading to George’s door, taking care of at least one headache. Many more remained, though.

Once he was done with cleaning and after making sure Dream was still out, George turned to rummaging through his stuff still laying on the bathroom’s floor. Most of the clothes were in ruins and wouldn’t serve any purpose anymore, but the equipment and supplies were all intact. The axe, the annoying crossbow Dream was far too fond of, some arrows, matches, berries, dried meat, a hunting knife, several ender pearls, and more junk George paid no attention to. It was strangely underwhelming. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but everything Dream had was just… regular survivalist things. No magic potions, enchanted weaponry, nothing fancy.

It was irritating. Perhaps a bit impressive, too, but George wouldn’t admit it out loud.

There was a noticeable lack of the shield Dream would always have on his person, though. That made him wonder.

George gathered all the items and went upstairs to his room to hide them. He wasn’t yet sure what he was going to do about them, but there was no way he was leaving any weapons around for Dream to use when he’d decide he didn’t need George’s _services_ anymore.

Another spark of annoyance ignited. He was _not_ a caretaker, much less a friend who’d be happy to help him out. Dream had no right to drop himself onto George like that and expect him to be okay with it.

Back in the living room, George took a seat by the opposite wall, prepared to wait until Dream woke up. He refused to consider what he’d do if Sapnap and Bad came back before George solved this problem. Or maybe that’d be for the better. Surely they’d understand why he didn’t let their target die like that, and be more than happy that their hunt had finally come to an end. If not somewhat disappointed by the way it did.

Whatever, not an issue he had to deal with at the moment.

Anxious, he toyed with the dagger in his hands. Each passing minute put a larger strain on his nerves. He didn’t have a plan, no idea what he was going to do next, only a hope he’d be able to make up something on the fly. What would Dream try to do? Maybe he should have tied him up, how come he hadn’t considered that before, there was some rope among their supplies, it wouldn’t take long to get it—

Before he could finish that thought, a quiet groan broke the silence, and George froze. He watched as Dream began stirring, movements stiff and groggy as he tried to pull himself up, hissing in pain whenever he moved too quickly. It didn’t take long for his wandering look to land on George at the other side of the room.

He stilled.

“...George,” he murmured, voice scratched, half in astonishment, half in relief.

Relief had no business being present there.

“Dream,” George responded, fully cold. Because coldness was the only thing that belonged here. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

A breathless laugh filled the air as Dream continued moving into a sitting position, careful. “Yeah, I’d gotten you good, huh? You looked like a pack of lost puppies.”

George wanted to bite back but kept his mouth shut. Getting angry would lead him nowhere.

“Much good that did you,” he muttered, making a point of trailing his eyes down the many bandages.

“I guess that’s fair,” Dream said, and George could almost see the sheepish smile behind the mask. “I’ll make sure to not separate too much from your group next time. Don’t wanna meet an actual challenge again.”

George gripped the dagger tighter, jaw clenched.

“There won’t be a next time, Dream.”

A beat passed.

Dream chuckled.

“You say that,” he started, slow, “yet I’m not seeing any bounds. I was surprised, actually, but you’ve always been the overconfident type, huh?”

George quirked a brow, huffing, as he stood up and paced up to Dream. “ _I’m_ the overconfident one? You were literally bleeding out on my floor like half an hour ago. You’re not going anywhere with those injuries, unless you want to end up unconscious again.”

He held in a cringe at Dream’s comment, though. He really should have tied him up. Not that he could let Dream know he considered that a mistake.

“Wanna bet?” Dream asked, a grin evident in his voice.

_Oh, go to hell._

Before Dream could react, George had his dagger pressed against his exposed throat as he leaned in close, supporting his weight on the wall with his free arm, one knee perched on the couch next to Dream. Satisfaction flooded his system at how Dream froze up.

He brought his face mere inches from Dream’s mask, eyes narrowing. “I know where every single wound on your body is,” he spoke, voice hushed. “Don’t think I’d hesitate to cut them all open again just because you proclaimed some shit about needing my help.”

Dream exhaled a shuddering breath. “That wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t _what_ , Dream? You’re gonna say you didn’t go all “ _Oh George, save me!_ ”?” He went up an octave. “Well, I did, but what happens next isn’t my problem, so I’d suggest you don’t be an idiot and make all my efforts go to waste.”

The air between them was suffocating. Both were still as statues, waiting for the other’s move. One beat, and the blade could draw blood. Dream swallowed, and George’s eyes followed the movement before snapping back up.

With a slow sigh, Dream pressed back against the couch, putting some distance between his skin and the knife.

“Alright, Georgie,” he murmured, chuckling. He brought his hand up and gave the dagger a gentle push away. George let him. “Have it your way.”

George frowned. Dream was only entertaining George, that much was obvious, but it was as much as he could hope to get from this stuck-up asshole. Still, he made sure to dig into the cut on Dream shoulder as he pulled back, not enough to reopen the wound, but enough to let him know he wasn’t fucking around. Dream gasped at the pain, his hand shooting up to grip the wound, agonized hisses leaving his lips.

“I know you take me for a joke, Dream,” George spoke, straightening. “But you _will_ eventually regret it.”

Dream took a moment to catch his breath before tilting his head to the side, questioning.

“I don’t take you for a joke.”

“Right, because you just go around falling into your hunters’ arms for fun,” George scoffed. “Speaking of which, what do you mean, didn’t know where else to go? There’s literally a medic down the street.”

“I can’t trust them,” Dream grumbled.

“And you can trust me?”

Dream shifted in his seat, still cradling his shoulder. A few moments of silence passed.

Finally, he spoke, “I’m still alive, aren’t I? You helped me, so I don’t understand what you don’t understand.”

He did have a point, George had to admit, even if it tasted sour.

“And,” Dream tasted his mouth. “Did you give me a _potion_?”

George bit into his lip and turned away, folding and unfolding his arms. He hated the way Dream’s stare bore into him, fiery. He shouldn’t need to defend himself, and yet he could feel the way Dream’s face was stretching into a grin and he hated it.

“You were dying,” he settled on muttering, still refusing to look at him.

“Awh, George,” Dream _cooed_. “It’s almost as if you care.”

George rolled his eyes, the mere thought ridiculous.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dream,” he said as he went back to his seat, observing Dream’s movements from the corner of his eye. “I would have been dead, too, with all those spiders, if you hadn’t—” He cut himself off in favor of grimacing. “This is just me repaying my debt. We’re even now.”

“Huh. Right, I remember that. Didn’t think you would. You were pretty out of it.”

Dream sounded strange. He couldn't quite pin-point in what way, though.

"Just the gist of it," George mumbled. "Not really anything... Whatever, doesn't matter."

Why had Dream gone to him then if he wasn’t counting on George returning the favor?

He didn’t voice that thought, though.

“So if next time I—”

“What did I just say?”

“Okay, _hypothetically speaking_ , if next time I show up all bloodied, you won’t help me?”

A pause.

“No.”

The pause had been too long for either of them to believe George’s answer.

Dream shrugged. “Alright, fair enough.”

Yeah, they were even. George didn’t owe him anything anymore. He could sleep peacefully again. Yeah.

“Say,” Dream started again, in a stranger tone than before. He lifted his hand to touch his mask. “If you gave me a potion, did you—”

“No,” George cut him off. He blinked in confusion at the unprompted urgency, before settling down with a cough. “No. Just enough to...” He made a vague gesture towards his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Mhm.”

“...Why not, though?”

George furrowed his brows, staring at Dream in question. “Sorry?”

“You could have, why didn’t you?”

George wasn’t sure.

Or, rather, he wouldn’t admit the truth.

“What, is respecting one’s privacy such a foreign concept to you?”

That seemed like an adequate enough answer.

“It is to most people.”

“I’m not most people.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Dream laughed. “I’m not used to such consideration.”

George scrunched his face up in distaste. “Don’t give me compliments, it’s weird.”

“Too bad,” Dream sighed, all dramatic. What was that supposed to mean? ”Anyway, my throat’s killing me, do you think you could get me some water?”

On some level, George admired Dream’s unwavering confidence. On all others, it was just infuriating.

“Dream. I am not your goddamn caretaker.”

“Oh c’mon, George, please? Don’t be mean.”

“I am literally the nicest person ever. You just don’t deserve to experience it.”

“George, _please_ , I am _dying_ over here,” Dream whined, dragging his words out like some sort of child. “I thought you didn’t want me to _die_.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“George, I am begging you—”

“Alright, stop crying,” George snapped. “God, you are insufferable.”

Dream giggled, and George wanted to throw something at him. At himself, too, because that laugh was _not_ cute, he refused to even consider the thought, his mind should _shut up_.

He went to fetch two glasses, one for himself, and filled them with water. He didn’t want to turn his back to Dream, but he’d figured he’d hear any suspicious movements, so he let Dream drink in peace.

(He couldn’t get Dream’s words out of his head. About him being considerate. He should not be coming across as considerate to his fucking _target_. What was wrong with him?)

“Thanks,” Dream sighed as he gave the glass back.

George chewed on his cheek, fingers drumming against the kitchen’s countertop in rapid succession. This all thing was far, far too domestic.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered.

Dream turned to look at him. “No, I don’t think it is.”

“How is any of this not stupid?”

He hummed, swaying his head from side to side, thinking. “Well, it’s like a little truce,” he finally proclaimed, smiling. “Those are nice once in awhile.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable.” George rolled his eyes. “We’re not—”

The sound of a rattling door lock cut him off, and George snapped his attention to the entrance. With rising horror, he realized Sapnap and Bad must be back from their outing.

He’d left the keys in the door by accident. They couldn’t unlock it.

Maybe there was a god.

“Shit,” he cursed, moving to pull Dream from the couch. “C’mon, let’s go, they can’t see you here.”

Dream remained silent as he leaned against George, arm around his shoulder, and the two of them stumbled their way towards the stairs. At least he didn’t need to drag the guy this time, that would have been a pain. Still, with how unsteady Dream was on his feet, most of the work fell on George, and his fatigued state was not helping.

“George?” He heard Sapnap call from outside. “The door’s stuck!”

“Ju-Just a minute!” he yelled back.

“Yeah, take your time, it’s totally not pouring or anything!”

“Petulant,” Dream snickered by his ear.

“Shut up and walk,” George hissed.

With much effort, they made it upstairs and all but fell into George’s room. He released Dream, who steadied himself by one of the cabinets, and pointed at him, eyes narrowed.

“Do. Not. Move.”

Before Dream had a chance to respond, George shut the door and raced down the stairs. With shaking hands, he unlocked the door and was met with his soaked-to-the-bone friends, less than in high spirits.

“Finally, oh my god,” Sapnap huffed, scrambling inside to get out of the rain along with Bad. “What were you doing?”

“I was—um—in the, uh—bathroom?”

George could barely contain himself from cringing at the shitty excuse. He shut the door and turned to face their quizzical looks.

“Why are you out of breath?” Bad asked as he took off his wet jacket.

“I was...” A pause. “Exercising?”

That shouldn’t have sounded like a question.

“In the bathroom?”

“Yup.”

Another pause.

“Alright, George,” Sapnap dragged. Yeah, neither of them believed him, but they didn’t push either, so George would take it.

“Did you, uh, did you find anything?” George asked, desperate for any sort of topic that’d turn the attention away from him, as they went to retrieve some towels from the infamous bathroom.

“Ugh, no,” Sapnap groaned, drying his hair with more force than necessary. “This town’s absolutely useless. A bunch of drunkards and nothing else.”

“That’s not very nice, Sapnap, there were plenty of lovely people,” Bad chastised him. “They just… Didn’t have much to say. Sorry, guys, I must have miscalculated,” he finished, dejected.

 _You really did not. Oh, how much you did not._ “It’s okay, Bad, it was worth a shot anyway. Maybe he hasn’t even gotten here yet.”

“Doubtful, he probably took a different route,” Bad sighed. He threw his towel over the door and shook his head. “I’ll take another look at the map tonight. Try to find a new path.”

“Don’t overwork yourself, you should rest first.” George remembered the ghastly wounds. “Hey, did you hear anything about… I don’t know, some potential danger outside? Like, more than usual?”

“I don’t think so?” Sapnap’s face twisted in thought. “The people seem chill, not scared or anything. Why?”

“Just… being safe, I guess.”

The two of them gave George a weird look but didn’t comment further.

“Anyway, I’m starving,” Sapnap proclaimed and began making his way to the kitchen, the other two following him. “You had dinner already, George?”

“Ah, no, I kind of… Forgot about it.” He’d had some more pressing matters at hand. “But I wouldn’t mind something, I suppose.”

“I think we have some eggs and milk left, I can make omelet,” Bad chirped, already gathering the products.

Yeah, _this_ was familial. Usually having Sapnap and Bad around eased his nerves in all situations, but now he couldn’t force his heart out of his throat as his thoughts kept wandering upstairs.

Oh. Hold on. He’d stashed Dream’s equipment there. Right. He had… forgotten about that.

Goddammit. He was going to die tonight, wasn’t he.

“Hey, George?” Sapnap pulled him out of his frenzied mind, and he turned to look at him. Sapnap was holding up the two glasses, brow raised in question, a teasing smile on his lips. “Had a guest over?”

He needed to fix his memory, how could he have forgotten about the _damn glasses no one uses two when you’re alone at least not for water_

“No,” he answered immediately, voice higher than he would have liked. “Those are both mine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was lazy and didn’t want to wash them.”

“They only had water in them.”

“I was very lazy.”

“George.”

“What?”

Sapnap opened his mouth to continue, but a muffled thud sounded from above them and attracted his attention instead.

_Oh for fuck’s sake what the hell is that idiot doing I am going to die_

“They’re still here?” Sapnap half-whispered, half-shouted, trying to hold back laughter.

“No, there’s no one here, it was—pigeons,” George stammered out, and even he could tell that was a bullshit explanation, but that was the best he could come up with in his current state.

Never before had he hated his inability to lie so bad.

“Did you make a friend?” Bad asked as he scrambled the eggs, delighted.

“No,” George huffed, the mere thought outrageous.

“Some company for the night, then?” Sapnap snickered. Of course he was having a field trip with this situation.

“Absolutely not!” he snapped too loudly, but heat was rising and if he denied it with enough vigor, they’d believe him, because that was how things worked.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, George,” Bad spoke in that soothing voice of his, smiling. Damn Bad and how it was impossible to ever get mad at him. “I think it’s important to rewind once in awhile. Did someone catch your eye while you were out in town today?”

“Ugh, oh my god, just—” George buried his burning face in his hands. “Shut up, oh my god.”

On the bright side, at least if they thought he had _company for the night_ over, they wouldn’t try going to his room. And maybe it was better for them to believe this outlandish scenario rather than… Yeah, whatever the hell the truth was.

“Alright, alright, we’ll lay off you for now,” Sapnap chuckled, bringing his hands up in surrender. “I just have one question.”

George peeked at him through his fingers, daring him to continue.

“Are they hot?”

That earned Sapnap a hard punch, and he jumped back, clenching his shoulder and laughing. “I’m gonna take that as a “yes”.”

“I hate you,” George muttered. “You are literally the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I really don’t.”

“Alright, you two, I’m almost done, so stop fighting,” Bad cut off whatever Sapnap was planning on saying in response. The egg and milk mix was already sizzling in the pan, filling the room with a savoury aroma.

“Yeah, George needs to conserve his energy.”

This time, Sapnap managed to dodge the attack, which only widened the stupid grin on his face. “Feisty today, I see. I dig it.”

“I am going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Knock it off, both of you!” Bad stressed. “Sapnap, stop aggravating George.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Sapnap said, still snickering. “I just didn’t expect this from _George_ of all people.”

“What is that even supposed to—”

“Dinner’s done!” Bad proclaimed over the two of them as he placed the plates down on the table louder than needed. “I also left some for your—” Cough. “—pigeons.”

George groaned, sinking into a chair by his portion. “Bad, seriously, this really is not—”

“I insist. I don’t want to come across as unwelcoming hosts.” He beamed.

Separating himself from reality for a moment, George had to admit, the situation was comical. Them preparing food for _Dream_ sounded as right as Bad cursing. They did not go together under any circumstances, and if George was any less stressed out, he would have laughed at the absurdity.

“Thanks for the dinner,” George grumbled once he’d shoved everything down. “I’ll… be going then.”

“Don’t forget to bring some food with you, too.”

“And have fun!”

He really, _really_ hated everything about his predicament.

George hoped by the time he made it back to his room, the color of his face had settled back down into a neutral one. He also hoped that his head wasn’t going to be chopped off the moment he opened the door, but at this point, that wouldn’t be so bad.

No such thing happened, though. Instead, George found Dream sitting crossed-legged on the mattress, reading some book he must have found amongst the sparse bookshelves.

George took a moment to appreciate how bizarre this sight was. He’d only ever seen Dream as he was either jumping over rocks and weaving between trees or when he was swinging his axe at him, intent on cutting off a limb or two. Always on the move, always fighting, always slipping through their fingers. He’d hadn't been able to take a good look at the guy before, and now he was all curled up on George’s bed without a care in the world, half-naked.

That last thought invited the heat back, but George chose to ignore it to spare his already frenzied heart.

Upon his entry, Dream lifted his head to meet George’s eyes, and he despised the way Dream didn’t as much as tense up.

(For more reason than one, but he wouldn’t say it.)

“Bad made dinner for you,” George finally spoke, careful to keep his voice neutral. He walked over and handed the plate to Dream. “Says he doesn’t want to be unwelcoming or whatever.”

“That’s very nice of him,” Dream laughed in surprise, amused. “Tell him I send my regards. Unless it’s poisoned.”

“It’s not. I would have looked very suspicious if I tried poisoning a guest’s food.”

Dream stared at him for a moment before shrugging and bringing a scoop under his mask. “Fair enough.”

George leaned back against the door, arms crossed, and watched him for a short while. He was quite good at eating with that gnarly mask on.

“What even was that sound?” George broke the silence. “Thought you were supposed to be sneaky or something.”

Dream paused in between his bites.

“I fell.”

“I… simply do not believe that.”

“Can’t do much to change that.”

George waited for him to elaborate, which he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

“They think I have a lover up here,” he said before his mind could catch up to his mouth. “Or “company for the night”, as Sapnap put it.”

Dream had been in the middle of swallowing, and now he was in the middle of choking. He placed the fork down in favor of bringing his hand over his mouth, trying to regain his breath, coughing quietly.

“You good?” George asked, and though he tried to come across as nonchalant, he couldn’t keep the amusement down. So even Dream could get flustered.

Dream nodded, inhaling deeply through his nose, until eventually he could breathe normally again. Or, close enough to it.

“That’s, ah—” Another cough. “That’s interesting. Close enough, I guess.”

George closed his eyes with an exasperated sigh. He could feel a headache settling in.

“It really, really is not.”

“There’s a thin line between hate and love, Georgie,” Dream remarked, and George could hear a grin in his still-mildly-scratched voice.

He sent a glare Dream’s way. “I am very far away from it, then.”

“Alright, George, then riddle me this,” Dream began as he placed the now empty plate on the nightstand. “How come I’m up in your room with your teammates having no idea if you insist this is the end of my journey? I’m sorry, but I fail to follow your logic here.”

George opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Shit. He had a point. To be frank, George hadn’t considered what he was doing or going to do, he just sort of… did things without thinking about it. For some reason, in the moment, hiding Dream had seemed crucial. Now, though, it didn’t make any sense if George did intend on not letting him go.

 _Shit_. He didn’t have an answer.

Dream chuckled and leaned forward, resting his head in his palm. “See, George, I don’t think you _actually_ want this game to end.”

“That’s just factually incorrect,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve wasted more than a year on you—I’m more than ready to be done.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

“What am I lying about?”

“I’m a good judge of character—I can tell you enjoy the chase just as much as I do.” Dream sighed in wonder. “Oh, if only you could see yourself, how you come _alive_ when our blades clash, when you barely miss my arrows, when I’m just out of your reach. It’s addicting. You’re addicting.”

The way George’s heart was thundering was near painful. Dream spoke in such awe that it left tingles all across his skin, electrifying his every nerve. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, and George had no idea what to do with that realization. He was scared to breathe—scared he’d shudder and give away that Dream was affecting him. Scared he’d then know all about the thoughts that’d circulate late at night, when he’d let his mind wander, hidden away by darkness. He’d never entertain them during the day because they were outrageous, untrue and dangerous, but sometimes, rationality melted away and for only a few moments, he’d grasp at them.

Now was not one of those times, there was too much light, so George swallowed them down and relaxed his shoulders, rolling his eyes.

“Oh _Dream_ , have you fallen for me?” he mocked. “That’d just be unfortunate. Sad, really. And you’re in way over your head if you think you know anything about me.”

Dream shrugged a beat too late. “Whatever you say, George. We both know the truth, though.”

“Do we now.” A pause. “How’d you get those injuries, anyway?”

Dream laughed. It was stiff. “That’s a bit blunt, don't you think?”

“What, touchy subject?”

“No,” he scoffed.

“Then? What happened?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.”

George stared at him in mild annoyance. Dream’s voice had gained a strange hostility, but that wasn’t going to deter him. “Yeah, I would, actually. Don’t I deserve _something_ for literally saving your ass?”

“You said it yourself—a favor for a favor. So I don’t get what you’re expecting,” he declared, pointed and cold.

Definitely a touchy subject. That didn’t give him any right to act this rude, though.

George tightened his lips, glancing away. He tried to ignore the stinging in his chest. “You’re such an ungrateful bastard,” he muttered. “I didn’t even get a “thank you”.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dream shift in place, turning his head away as well. The bed creaked underneath.

Dream sighed, “It’s nothing for you to worry about, alright?” His voice was slow. “It’s not a danger to you or your friends.”

“Awh, Dream, it’s almost as if you care,” George parroted Dream’s words back at him.

That earned him a lighthearted chuckle from Dream, and the stinging lessened.

“It’d be no fun if my favorite hunters got killed off like that.”

“We’re your favorite? I’m touched.”

“Of course. I especially like the way you scream,” he spoke, and the tone of those words, low and hushed, made something twist inside George’s stomach. He experienced vertigo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled, and though he had intended it to be dismissive, his voice was too breathless. “Absolutely terrible.”

“If you say so, George.”

He despised the way he said his name. He should knock it off.

“You—” George began, unsure of how to continue. He licked his lips. “You need—” Dream leaned forwards, almost inviting. ”You need some fucking clothes.”

Dream laughed at that, so much so his shoulders shook, and George took the chance to cross the room to his stash where he’d kept some of his clothing. He made sure to keep his heated face away from Dream’s eyes.

“What, you—you like what you see a bit too much?” Dream kept cackling, far too amused at the situation.

“I am seriously regretting not letting you die, oh my god.”

“Oh George, c’mon, don’t be like that.”

“I will be like that.”

Dream giggled, “You’re just like how I’d imagined you be.”

“Glad you’re not disappointed,” George said, dry. “Now kindly fuck off.”

As Dream continued wheezing, George found the largest shirt he owned from his small collection (which, to be fair, was still probably too small), and threw it at Dream.

“I don’t have anything bigger.”

“That’s very kind of you, George,” Dream chirped as he pulled the shirt over his head, careful to not aggravate any of the wounds. “Dinner, clothes, I’m beginning to see a pattern here.”

George brought a hand to his temple and rubbed, shutting his eyes. This was exhausting. Dream was exhausting. He was making this more difficult than it had to be.

“Could you just… stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“You know what,” he snapped, turning to look at Dream, frowning. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s _not_ going to work, you understand?”

“I’m… not exactly sure what you mean,” Dream chuckled, awkward, and _fuck him_ and how taken aback he sounded, that just wasn’t fair, he wasn’t being fair, he had no right to act like this, like they were friends or something, and then turn around and swing his axe at him fully intent on maiming him, _he had absolutely no fucking right_

Neither did George, to be fair, but he pushed that thought far down.

“Whatever,” he murmured, too tired to argue anymore. “Just shut up.”

A tense silence settled over them. Somewhere at the back of his mind, George wondered whether Bad or Sapnap heard anything. He didn’t worry about them recognizing Dream’s voice—they hadn’t chatted much, after all. And they wouldn’t expect it either, so.

“You look sleepy,” Dream finally remarked.

George glared at him. “And what do you suggest I do about it?”

“Uh, sleep?”

“With you in the same room? Surely you can’t be serious.”

“Well I for one do wanna sleep tonight, so how about a temporary truce?” He brought a hand to his chest and made a cross over his heart. “I promise not to do anything if you don’t either.”

George had wanted nothing more than to get some rest for the last few hours, so even if he was still very much opposed to the idea, it wasn’t like he was going to get anything better.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed. “I _will_ haunt you if you do decide to slit my throat.”

“Well damn, I was gonna, but ghosts terrify me.”

George’s lips twitched upwards, and he covered it with a cough.

He prefered when Dream wouldn’t talk to them.

“What are you doing?” Dream asked as George began pulling some bedding down.

“If you think I’m going to sleep in the same bed as you, you are insane.”

“Um, shouldn’t it be the other way around then?..”

George let out a long groan as he turned the light off and went to flop down on his makeshift bed, tucking his dagger under the pillow for quick access. “I may hate you, but I’m not about to force an injured man to sleep on the floor.”

He didn’t get a response. A few beats passed, and the bed next to him creaked as Dream laid down. That was a good sign. On the ground and in near-total darkness, George wasn’t sure if he’d be able to put up a good fight if Dream decided to surprise him with an attack.

He wasn’t the only one vulnerable to an attack, though, he realized with a start.

“If you hurt Sapnap or Bad,” he spoke, quiet but threatening, “I _will_ make sure your death is painful.”

“I won’t,” Dream responded with a silent laugh. “That’d be douchey.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.”

“I’m starting to think you have a very negative image of me.”

“I wonder what could have given that away,” George drawled. A thought crossed his already foggy mind. “I still don’t get it, though.”

“What?”

“What made you think I’d help.”

A pregnant pause.

“I don’t know,” Dream admitted, and in the night’s air, between the two of them, it was almost a confession. Of what, George couldn’t tell.

“Huh.”

“Goodnight, George.”

He didn’t respond.

Realistically, neither of them should be falling asleep. Their agreement hinged only on words, and what were words in the grand scheme of things? Words were used to make yourself feel better, not something to stake your life on.

But George was tired. He was tired from working in town the entire day, and even more tired from Dream. Even if he wanted to stay awake, his body refused to.

Exhausted and stressed, and it didn’t take long for him to drift to unconsciousness, soothed by Dream’s soft breathing next to him.

~

He’d been dreaming of something, blurry images and sounds mixed in his mind, but the sensation of moving brought George out of his slumber. It took him several sluggish moments to realize he was no longer on the hard floor and instead in his bed, and that thought alone was enough to force his eyes open.

It was almost pitch black, the moonlight barely seeping through the drawn curtains. Still, he could make out a figure above him, pulling away, and he eventually connected the dots, however unclear they were.

“Dream?” he slurred. “What’re you...”

The man froze before shushing. “Go back to sleep, George.”

“Wait,” he breathed out, reaching to grasp at Dream’s shirt. His eyes kept shutting, far too heavy for him. “You can’t… leave.”

A quiet chuckle filled the air. It settled like cotton. Soft.

“And why not?”

George forced himself to look. Dream was closer. It seemed like it, anyway.

“You’re impossible to find.”

“Not always. Not when I don’t want to be.”

“Still,” George grumbled. “You’re so selfish.”

Dream hummed in thought. Slowly, he took hold of his mask and turned it to the side, away from his face, letting it rest on the side of his head.

It was dark. Much too dark for George to make out anything apart from Dream’s silhouette and the whiteness of his mask. And yet, a breath still got caught in his throat. The residue of sleep continued clinging, but the steady increase of his heartbeat was peeling its claws off one by one.

Only one coherent thought circulated in his muddied mind.

Dream had taken his mask off. Dream had taken his mask off.

His grasp on Dream’s shirt (vaguely, he remembered it was his shirt, and that knowledge didn’t help) tightened.

Dream leaned in, close, closer, resting his arms on the bed’s headrest above and legs on either side of George, and he thought this was the closest he could get. With his heart now in his throat, eyes slowly adjusting, he could barely see the outlines of Dream’s facial features. A concept of them, more than anything, and they were _so close_

He should have been feeling trapped. He literally was trapped, but.

“George,” Dream whispered, and George could feel his breath on his skin, could taste it.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely a murmur.

“Thank you.”

George tried to find Dream’s eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

Time was still, then. Whatever part that was still holding onto rationality was screaming to get out of it while he still could, but it was so dark. And rationality was such a fragile thing. And like sugar in hot tea, it melted.

He dug into the fabric and pulled Dream down, closing off the gap.

At first, it was nothing more than a brush. A test. Finding the right place with nothing to go off on apart from an idea and touch. Then, Dream turned his head, a bit lower, and, on the second try, captured his lips properly.

Weirdly enough, if George hadn’t been laying down, he thought he would have pushed away. There was something about the position and the hour, the sort of feeling you get between falling asleep and waking up where anything can happen, where you can say anything and when you take the most bizarre visions, sounds, sensations as truth, at face value without a shadow of a doubt. Yes, ladybugs could indeed eat you, and yes, kissing Dream was nice.

Dream moved against him, and George moved with him, because at that moment, it was the most natural thing in the world. It burned, the contact burned, and it was both too much and not enough, and George had no coherent thoughts left that’d help him figure how to make it less, so instead, he settled on not enough. He rode his hand up Dream’s chest until he reached the side of his face. His fingers trailed his neck, his jaw, and finally they buried in his hair, just long enough to grip, and twisted.

A low sound, a mix of a gasp and a groan, sounded in Dream’s throat, and the sensation of falling overcame George. Exhilarating and terrifying, promising either ecstasy or painful death, high risk, high reward sort of deal. Without taking it, you could never predict which outcome you’d get.

He stepped closer to the edge as Dream parted his lips, and he followed.

The burning wasn’t only at the contact anymore. It spread like hellfire to the ends of his fingertips and toes, and he feared it’d make his erratic heart stop. Uncomfortable, the lack of touch was _uncomfortable_ , in some areas more than others, but Dream’s hands were above him, supporting his body, and if George wanted them, he’d have to voice it. The prospect was terrifying. A fragile string was holding the spell together, and if George said anything, he’d risk waking up. It was still dark, and he wished to remain under for as long as it lasted.

So he suffered, and instead with his other hand he found the end of the shirt and slipped underneath, feeling up Dream’s own heated skin, mindful of the bandages. Dream broke contact then in favour of exhaling a stifled moan, and George drank it up. He chased his lips, locking them once more, and dug his nails into Dream’s side, trailing up. Dream almost lost his hold on the headrest at that. In response, nipped at George’s lower lip, sending a violent shudder down his spine, and deepened the kiss further.

He could barely focus on anything anymore. Everything had melted away, leaving behind only stolen breaths and scorching touches.

A dream never-ending. Even if he wanted to awaken, it was out of his control by now.

At some point, Dream pulled away from his mouth and instead moved down, leaving chaste kisses along his cheek, jaw, and down his neck. The combination of soft lips and occasional hard teeth on his sensitive skin left him gasping for air, the hold in Dream’s hair tightening.

George felt Dream smile against a spot a bit above his collarbone, sighing.

“Knew we were on the same page,” he whispered, and the vibrations of Dream’s voice so close choked him.

“This—This doesn’t—You—” Words were failing him, his head too much of a mess to form sentences.

Dream hummed, questioning and teasing, enjoying himself.

“I still—” George swallowed through his laboured breaths. “I still hate you.”

“If that means you’ll continue chasing me, I’m okay with that.”

Leaving him at that, Dream pushed himself away. George released his grip and let his hands fall, where Dream caught them and brought to his lips as he settled into a sitting position above George.

“You could kill me with these,” he murmured, affectionate, and laid kisses on each finger.

It was impossible to tell whether he meant literally or figuratively.

 _Depending on the situation_ , George’s mind supplied, and the thought both mortified and excited him.

“I could do more than that.” He heard the words before he realized he’d said them.

Even in the dark, he could see Dream grin.

“That’s something to look forward to, then.”

He released his hands and got off the bed. George didn’t bother moving. Instead, he closed his eyes and threw an arm over them, listening to Dream gather his things. Of course he’d found them. George couldn’t bring himself to care.

Eventually, he heard the window open.

“See you next time, George.”

He didn’t respond.

~

In the morning, Sapnap asked how his night went. George said pigeons didn’t make for good company, and Sapnap laughed.

They found a trail on their next outing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay you made it!:D it's literally exam season for me and here i am, writing dnf. life couldn't be better
> 
> thank u for reading and i'd love to hear your thoughts down in the comments!!:)) i honestly have way more ideas for this specific au and trope but will i write them..... not even god knows...... just in case, though, if you want, you can subscribe:D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES AHAHAHA
> 
> Okay, listen. Honest to god, I had _not_ planned to add anything more to this. Sure, I had ideas, but I would have been content with entertaining them in my head and nothing else, I didn't have the motivation to do more. But y'all just??? Completely floored me with how you responded. Like, oh my god, I definitely had not expected such a positive and warm reception. With each excited comment, my own excitement grew until it reached a point where the moment my last exam finished, I got straight to writing. Like, seriously, y'all singlehandedly gave me enough motivation to not only write another part but actually plan out an entire story?? Do you realize what kind of power you hold??? So this chapter is dedicated to all of you ❤️ I write because I find it fun, sure, but this literally wouldn't be here if not for your support ❤️ I'm excited to bring you more in the future as well!!
> 
>  **Important notice before you continue** : this chapter is taking place a few months before the first one :) This is probably not gonna be strictly linear, so I may jump around between time points a bit. I'll let you know about it in the notes :]
> 
> Also! Only a SMALL percentage of people who read this are ACTUALLY subscribed, so if you end up enjoying the story, consider subscribing, it's FREE, and you can always change your mind later. Enjoy!!!
> 
> lol

For as much as Dream liked to mock his hunters, he had to admit—they were _persistent_.

Dream had had many pursuers in the past; being a fugitive for years tended to attract a lot of those. Add the ever-growing bounty on his head, and you could forget the idea of relaxing for even a minute. Not that it had ever been an issue—they'd always been the same hunter-wannabes, way in over their heads, thinking they could make a quick coin by taking out some random guy. Sometimes, Dream felt bad for them, truly. Only sometimes, though. If they couldn’t figure out that a reward enough to last a man at least a decade didn’t equal “some random guy”, well, they had no one else to blame but themselves. Not Dream’s fault they lacked any sort of foresight.

And so, Dream had gotten comfortable. Scaring off whichever assholes decided it’d be a bright idea to go against him had become somewhat of a hobby. If here and there they’d fall onto his blade by accident, well, that was the definition of self-defense, Dream would argue. Not that the court would listen. Not that there would even _be_ a court.

Yeah, it wasn’t relaxing, but it wasn’t overly bothersome either.

Or, at least, it hadn’t been.

Dream leaned against his knees, panting, as he tried to catch his breath. A dull stinging had settled in his chest, but he paid it no mind. Finally, the voices were far away enough for him to take a moment’s rest. God, “a break” just wasn’t part of their vocabularies, was it? He’d hoped if he took for the caves, so deep down with barely any light, his pursuers wouldn’t follow (getting an arrow in your eye was almost a given here), but yeah, he should have known better by now. They sure knew how to stick like wet leaves. Sometimes it was amusing. Sometimes plain tiring.

Hiding wounds took energy, dammit. 

A splash sounded too close and Dream snapped up, already reaching for his axe. Frozen, he listened more carefully. Yeah, there were definitely footsteps coming towards his little cavern, and he inwardly swore. Only one pair, though. Did they trail after him this far down? What, were they suicidal or something?

The rattling of bones bounced off the walls in the splash’s direction, and a curse followed. An arrow wooshed, one hit, two, and the skeleton toppled. The footsteps continued, but now Dream had a name. He’d recognize that voice in his sleep by this point.

Of course it was _George_. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where the rest of his team would let him go after Dream by himself, so he probably was being an idiot. Again. No matter how many times Dream would topple him and prove he stood no chance against him alone, George pretended he was both blind and deaf. (Definitely not mute, though.)

An endearing little cricket, he was. An annoying one, too. Dream _really_ was not in the mood for another fight where he had to make sure George didn’t, in fact, fall onto his blade by accident. At times, George made everything more difficult than it had to be.

And so, he let go of his axe. Instead, he turned around and retreated farther down the tunnel until he reached a narrow ravine. A quick scan later, and Dream found himself a spot higher up the walls, easily missable and perfect for his situation. In these times, he thanked the heavens for night vision potions. They might cost a pretty penny, but damn have they saved his life time and time again.

Without much effort, Dream scaled the rock and slipped inside the small opening. He made sure to move back enough to be out of seeing range for anyone below, but so he could still observe. He waited, and soon enough George emerged from the same cave, illuminated by the flame of his torch. Dream used to regard their usage of fire instead of potions as stupid, but once Sapnap drenched him in oil and chucked the burning stick at his face, so. They sure had creativity, Dream could give them that.

George paused in the clearing, sword ready, and surveyed the area. He was muttering something, but Dream couldn’t make out the words. From the way his shoulders were rising, he was somewhat out of breath himself. Dream hoped he didn’t decide to rest here. As good of a hiding spot as his was, his back was already complaining. _Move along, Georgie. Bye, bye._

Something else caught George’s attention, though. He cocked his head away from the wall and approached the ledge, extending his torch above the ravine to get a better look. Dream followed his line of sight, and _huh_. There, on the other side, nestled among the rock, were wooden platforms extending farther into a dark tunnel. An abandoned mineshaft, here? Those things sure were unpredictable. Why was George staring at it so much, though? He can’t seriously be considering to—

George sheathed his sword, took a few steps back, and, with a running start, jumped over the ravine. He landed on the other side with a slight wobble but otherwise alright. Dream sighed. Only this idiot would think exploring a mineshaft alone was a good idea. Maybe George wasn’t suffering from a severe case of stubbornness. Maybe he just had no sense of self-preservation.

Dream would be a hypocrite if he judged him, though.

Still. At least Dream was certain in his own abilities to know he’d survive a trek into those cursed tunnels. Maybe George was, too, but overconfident people tended to be biased.

(That sounded odd, but Dream only blinked and ignored it.)

Now that George found a distraction, Dream could get out of here without any issue. He crawled out of the wall and climbed it down. He couldn’t see George anymore, but he was igniting the dead lanterns on his way, a trail for him to follow back. In those godforsaken mazes, leaving no breadcrumbs was a sure death sentence, so at least George had _some_ forethought.

Dream stood by the edge, looking at the flickering lights on the opposite side. On the other hand, mineshafts usually had an exit towards the surface somewhere. If Dream went back the way he came, he’d risk running into Sapnap and Bad, which wouldn’t be ideal. He’d take a one on one over two anytime. And if that one happened to be George, well, not his fault the stars aligned like that.

And if he so happened to be in the right place to prevent an arrow from taking out someone’s eye, or something, well. Who was he to oppose the universe?

Where would he get his daily amusement from if George went and got himself killed?

With a quiet jump, Dream crossed the ravine. He took out his axe, just in case, and entered the mineshaft. The wooden boards were old and creaked beneath his feet, but he paid it no mind. The whole damn thing was crawling with creatures of the dark, so it was never silent to begin with. Maybe that’d put George further on edge, too. Good, he could do with being on guard more.

Dream followed the lanterns at a quickened pace until he caught the sound of George’s steps up ahead, somewhere to the left. He slowed and approached the corner with caution, trying to make as little noise as possible. So far, neither of them had encountered any mobs, though Dream _had_ seen some suspicious red eyes down one of the corridors. Best not to linger too long here.

He peeked over the wall. It was a bigger area, a storage room of sorts. George had stopped and was wiping cobwebs away from one of the rusted chests. He placed his torch into a nearby holder and went to try opening the lid. It didn’t budge. Frowning, he rummaged through his pockets and retrieved a piece of metal wire. Oh, now this was interesting. George crouched and began picking at the lock, murmuring under his breath. Eventually, a click sounded, and George smiled to himself.

Alright, that was pretty cool. If something didn’t open, Dream would just hack at it with his axe until it did. He had the patience and precision for fighting, not _lock-picking._ Dream had assumed his hunters were the same.

Apparently not. Huh.

George started going through the loot, taking out whatever of value he could find. Some string, matches, pieces of coal, nothing spectacular. One by one, he repeated the process for each chest. _Diligent much?_ Eventually, he closed the last one, and paused. Dream leaned out a bit more to see what had gotten his attention now, but instead, George snapped his head in his direction. Only due to his heightened response time did Dream manage to get out of his sight at the same moment.

Heart in his throat, Dream waited. Did George see him? In hindsight, his behavior was pretty suspicious. Who just watched another doing nothing? Was this stalking? No, maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to attack. Yeah, that was what he’d say. Wait, hold on, what? _Say_? He didn’t need to _say_ anything, they never talked, and it wasn’t like George would question it in the first place.

He was worrying about the wrong things. Again.

No sound came, though. Perhaps George hadn’t seen him. Careful, Dream shifted to peek over again. George was still by the chests, his focus on some sort of… flower growing through the wooden boards along the wall. It was small and had a soft blue glow to it, a cold one. Dream couldn’t remember seeing one like that before. Not that he paid much attention to flowers anyway. Did those even grow so far down? Didn’t it need stuff like the sun or something?

George got up and went over to pluck it, gentle. He retrieved a notebook from a pouch and placed the flower amongst the pages before putting it away.

Did _George_ like flowers? That’d be a bit unexpected. Didn’t they, like, not have time for such things?

(Dream decided not to pursue that train of thought.)

George gathered his things and started heading back the way he came from. Dream scrambled out of the corridor into a nearby one, unlit, and waited until George passed him. No, he definitely hadn’t noticed him. Good, that was good. Maybe he’d leave the mineshaft now and regroup with his teammates. That’d be great. These mazes creeped Dream the hell out.

At one of the tunnels, George stopped. He stared into the darkness of it, chewing on his lip. He looked… hesitant, expression alternating between a frowning and a thoughtful one. What did he have to think about in a place like this? Finally, it settled into a determined one, and George went off the path. Dream almost groaned. _Please just leave it, George, please just leave._

Quiet, Dream followed. The tunnel George ventured into was different from the rest—the type where the wooden platform acted as a bridge above a cavern below. Dream cast a glance down, and _oh_ , there were those red eyes again. A chill travelled down his spine, and he lingered behind a stack of crates, watching as George went farther in, slow. Sure, these sort of corridors usually led to more valuable loot, but this was just reckless. George was being _stupid_ , what was the point of this? Didn’t he realize how—

A low growl broke the unnerving silence, and Dream snapped his eyes up. He hadn’t noticed the broken second floor hidden in the shadows above them, but that didn’t mean other things hadn’t noticed _them_. Before either could react, a gnarly zombie fell through the wooden gap in front of George, landing on its feet and making a grab for the human. George swerved out of the way, already reaching for his sheathed weapon, but the monster was relentless. Without giving George a moment, it charged at him with a roar, teeth bared and ready to bite. George ducked and scrambled back. There wasn’t much space to scramble back on, though, and the floorboards were loose and out of place. George’s foot caught on one of them, and, with a gasp, he lost his footing, falling off the platform—

—through a nest of cobwebs below.

Before the zombie could jump after him, an arrow pierced its throat. Dream, sprinting towards it, cursed—too low. Still, it did the job—the monster snapped its attention away from George. Gurgling, it turned to pounce at Dream, but with a swing of his axe, Dream smashed through its head. The vile black liquid splashed across Dream’s front, and the putrid smell of rotting flesh invaded his senses. The corpse fell onto the bridge with a thud, unmoving. God, these bastards could be so annoying at times—

A choked scream sounded from below, cutting off Dream’s thoughts. He hurried to the ledge, and there, in the darkness, at least half a dozen spiders were swarming a knocked down George. He was trying to kick and push them off, but they were so big and there were so many of them. Hisses echoed through the cavern as more of those ghastly creatures crawled out of various crevices, no doubt sensing a prey for their fangs. Yeah, there was no way Dream would let them have him.

Dream jumped into the ruined cobwebs onto one of the spiders, crushing it, and proceeded to tear as many of them off of George as he could. Finally, George was free enough to scurry away, gasping and heaving. Dream leapt over the scampering bodies, quickly grabbing the discarded but still burning torch, and pulled him to his feet.

“We gotta leave, _now_ ,” Dream rushed out, already taking for the dark tunnels without letting go of George’s arm. There was no time for any debating or questions or anything—once those cursed spiders had a taste, they’d never leave it, and even Dream couldn’t take on an army.

Fortunately, besides the strained breathing, George stayed quiet and followed, albeit unsteadily. They’d left the mineshaft by that point, back into the winding caves. The horde of crawlers were on their tail, and Dream tried to lose them by making sharp turns, going farther and farther out. And if he were alone, maybe he could have just outrun the spiders, he’d done that many times in the past, but with how much George was struggling to keep up, chokes of pain intertwining with the hissing behind them, that wasn’t an option.

There had to be _something_ Dream could do, some way to outmaneuver them, some way to chase them off—

The fire flickered as they ran, not out yet.

Dream pulled George roughly forward, out of the way, as he himself stopped and twisted around. He ghosted over the few bottles hanging on his belt until he found the right one. It had been more of a joke than anything, having it with him, but if asked, he’d say it was calculated. All according to plan.

He unhooked the glass and, putting as much force into it as he could, chucked it at the pathway behind them, in front of the approaching spiders. The bottle shattered and the oil splashed across the floor. Dream wasted no time in throwing the torch at it, jumping back.

Flames roared to life, engulfing the cavern in bright light. High-pitched screeches echoed as the fire licked the first line of spiders, and none dared to cross it. That’d hold them off for a bit, but they weren’t out of danger yet. Dream turned to George, who was leaning against the wall, eyes shut, heaving. He was clenching his head as a pained expression twisted his face, choking on agonized gasps. A spark of uneasiness crept up Dream’s spine, but he ignored it. There was no _time._

“C’mon, c’mon, let’s go.” Dream grabbed George’s arm and pulled him along as he ran away from the fire, farther into the darkness.

He had to find a place to hide, fast. The effects of the dark vision potion were beginning to wear off, and becoming blind in this situation was far from ideal. A light source, he needed a light source, but he had no matches or anything with him, perhaps George would? But he couldn’t just ask, he was pretty sure that’d be inappropriate. Then again, Dream _was_ trying to save George’s life here, so maybe?

A low shine up ahead seized Dream’s thoughts. There was only one thing that produced natural light in caves, and huh, were they that low? An opening in the rock, big enough for a person to fit through, was illuminated by a soft yellow glow, and the popping of lava sounded from within. Dream slowed, and, after a moment’s consideration, pushed George through the crevice before following himself.

The cavern was spacious and intricate—ceiling high, a large tunnel in the back, bodies of lava sprinkled around. A good place to rest, if Dream could block off the gap. A quick scan around the area revealed various pieces of rubble, a particularly big one farther along the wall. Yeah, that’d work, so he got to pushing the rock. Its jagged surface dug into his shoulder, a dull pain igniting, but Dream paid it no mind. The thing was heavy and kept getting stuck on the uneven floor, but eventually, he managed to get it in front of the crevice. He’d like to see those crawling bastards try to get to them now.

 _Finally_ , Dream could lean against the rock and try to catch his breath. The adrenaline coursing through his system did wonders for his endurance, but now that the danger passed, his heart was beginning to calm, and with it, the excitement that was keeping him up. He’d spent the entire day running away from the hunters, fending off mobs left and right, and now this incident. Others might believe his energy reserves were never-ending, but they believed many things. Dream would have been dead long ago if they didn’t.

Still, at the end of the day, he was human, and damn was he exhausted. A mild shake had settled in his bones, and he desperately needed to relax for a minute.

He wasn’t alone, however, and, with a groan, Dream ran a hand down his mask.

“God, George, what the hell were you _thinking_? Who in their right mind goes to a mineshaft alone?” he complained, throwing his arm out for emphasis. “Honestly, you are _so_ lucky I was in a good mood.”

That last part wasn’t necessarily true, but to anyone else, it was.

When he got no response, Dream lifted his head and turned away from the wall, casting a look around the place.

George was nowhere to be seen.

Did he seriously run off?

“Oh c’mon,” Dream huffed as he pushed himself from the rock. “I’m not gonna fight you, George, that’d kinda negate the whole rescuing part, y’know.”

Still, there was no answer, and Dream began making his way across the cavern, glancing around. Nothing besides his footsteps and the cracking of lava could be heard, and, behind his mask, Dream frowned. How had George managed to get away without him noticing? Why had he run anyway? Okay, maybe that wasn’t surprising, they weren’t exactly on friendly terms, but a “thank you” before he did would have been nice. No manners left in this world.

Dream could have let him go and be on his merry way. He could have, but he couldn’t get the image of George trembling and heaving with that expression out of his head. It was a bit… concerning, really. Dream had had no time to assess the damage he got dealt, but George _had_ gotten swarmed by a pack of poisonous spiders minutes before. It’d be annoying if he went and died anyway after everything.

“Where did you go?..” Dream murmured, tracing and walking around a couple of large stalagmites. The cave had many of those, and with each second, his uneasiness grew. George couldn’t have gotten far, not with how unsteady he looked, so where—

As Dream turned a corner, alarms flared, but it wasn’t quick enough. Something hard connected with the side of his head, and he stumbled back with a pained gasp. Black dots swirled in his vision, skewing everything, but he could still make out the attacker in front of him. Dazed, he didn’t have a chance to move out of the way before a blade plunged at him. On instinct, he grabbed the hands holding the knife before it could make contact, but the force of impact coupled with his swaying sight was enough to topple both of them to the ground.

With George straddling him, his nerves spiked as he realized the blade was inches away from piercing through his throat. With how much strength George was putting into his attack, he was dead set on making sure it did.

He had _not_ anticipated this.

_fuck oh fuck goddammit_

“George, _stop_ ,” he spoke through clenched teeth, trying to push the knife away. The sharp pain in his head was draining his energy. “I don’t wanna fight you, you idiot!..”

But George didn’t respond. His breathing was quick and uneven, and his whole frame shook from head to toe. The light from the lava illuminated the paleness of his skin, much whiter than usual, almost sickly. He stared at Dream with a strange intensity, as if a mist was covering his wide eyes, a crazed spark in them that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Only then did Dream notice the many bite marks littered across his body.

Right, the fucking _poisonous spiders._

No way was he getting killed in such a _stupid_ situation.

Bristling, he delivered a kick to George’s stomach with his knee. George choked out a cry of pain, and at the moment when his grip weakened, Dream pushed against him and threw him to the side, snatching the knife away. By the time he sat up, the black swirls and the pounding making him hiss, George had managed to scramble away backwards until he hit the wall. His gaze didn't leave Dream's form for a second.

Holding his head where hot liquid trailed down his face, Dream tried blinking away the spots so he could properly focus on George. At least it didn’t look like he’d attack again, not with how he was pressing against the rock, terror twisting his pale face. Dream couldn’t… He couldn’t say he’d ever seen George this purely scared. Sure, he’d get frightened, especially when Dream would get too close for comfort, but even then, determination would mix in with the fear, and he’d always charge back, never cower. Even moments before, wasn’t that why he attacked?

Dream had no idea how he was supposed to deal with this sort of _child-like_ fright.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, George, alright?” Dream said, still trying to catch his breath as he moved into a kneeling position. To highlight his point, he skidded the knife across the floor away from both of them. “Well, if you don’t do anything stupid again.”

George was borderline-hyperventilating by now, and that wasn’t a good sign. This much adrenaline mixing up with the spiders’ venom was a recipe for disaster, it had to be. The pain made it difficult to focus, but Dream was sure he knew how this whole thing worked, something about anxiety and struggling and—

—and how too much poison reacting with too much stress would make the heart stop.

And George was _hyperventilating._

Fuck, Dream needed to calm him down. Fuck. _Fuck._

That was, quite literally, the opposite of his specialty.

Before Dream could say anything, though, George finally broke the silence.

“What… what the _hell_ are you?” he gasped out.

If the assault before surprised Dream, this question knocked the air out of him.

“George, c’mon… You know who I am,” he spoke, forcing a light chuckle into his voice.

He hadn’t asked _who_ , though. He’d asked _what._

Somehow an even worse question.

“”George”?..”

There was no way he’d forgotten his own name. There was _no way._

In any other situation, Dream would have rolled his eyes and called the bluff, an idiotic one at that. But George looked the furthest from joking a person could be. Delusions from spider venom weren’t unheard of, but they were such a rare side-effect that Dream hadn’t even considered the possibility. Just his fucking luck.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s your name,” Dream said, quieter. He moved forwards a bit, still on the ground. “And you, um, you need to calm down, alright?”

“Stay back,” George hissed as a particularly violent tremble shook his body. “What—What kind of— _creature_ —are you?”

_What in the everloving hell was that supposed to mean?_

“I’m—George, I’m not a monster,” Dream laughed in surprise, though a coldness had settled. “I’m a human.”

“No, you’re not,” George shuddered and he bit into his lip so hard it drew blood. “You don’t—have a fucking _face._ ”

Dream stilled. Did George… not realize he was wearing a mask? How much out of it did he have to be?

“I do, I promise I do, you’re just—you’re not seeing things right,” Dream explained, trying to keep his voice level. “Your mind’s messed up, do you understand?”

He shook his head with a choked cry, “No, no, you’re—you’re going to kill me, _you’re going to kill me—_ ”

“George!” Dream exclaimed over him, pulling down his hood. “Look at me!”

George quieted with a whimper, staring at him with those wide eyes. Dream’s nerves froze—why had he done that? What had he planned on doing next? This was—This wasn’t—Why was he—

But George was panicking, and Dream was a _creature._ He wouldn’t let himself be calmed down like this. His anxiety would grow until his body couldn’t take it anymore. And why? Because Dream knew only how to hunt, hurt, kill?

That was all so easy. So straightforward. Simple to master. Simple to understand.

It shouldn’t have made a difference. Whether George was bleeding out from Dream’s axe or whether his heart was failing because of Dream’s presence shouldn’t have made a difference. Both unfortunate, both not preferable, but the first would have been self-defense, so it wouldn’t have mattered, in the end. George would have been just another fool, in the end.

This wasn’t self-defense. If Dream did nothing purely because of his _principles_ , this would be cruel.

“Look at me, George,” he repeated, softer this time.

He lifted his hand to his mask. God, it was heavy. As if made out of lead. His whole body felt made out of lead. Every nerve was screaming at him to put it away, to find another option, he didn’t need to do this, he _couldn’t_ do this, but he forced his trembling fingers to grip the hard edge.

It would be okay, he would be okay, there was no reason to fret. So what if he hadn’t shown his face to another in years? That was tactical, purely tactical, tactical, _tactical_ , and nothing else. George was delusional, anyway—he wouldn’t know who he was looking at. He probably wouldn’t remember, either. It didn’t matter. _It didn’t matter_.

Just for a couple of minutes. It would be okay _._

With a shaky breath, he pulled the mask over his head and lowered it.

“See?” He twisted his lips into an unsteady smile. “I’m the same as you. No reason to be afraid.”

George had stilled, and his eyes were boring holes into Dream’s. He tried not to flinch at the intensity. He tried not to flinch at the way the cave’s cool air was tickling his now-exposed skin. Exposed, for the world to see, because here, at this moment, this damp cavern and this one hyperventilating boy could have been the entire world as far as Dream was concerned.

He forced his erratic heart to settle. _He was fine._

“George, you—” He licked his dry lips. How were you supposed to calm someone? “You need to breathe, alright? You’re gonna pass out if you keep choking,” he finished with an awkward grin.

“I—I don’t—” George shook his head. “I _can’t—_ ”

“H-Hey, how about you, uh, breathe with me?” Dream suggested. His mind was frying, and the dots in his vision weren’t only from the hit anymore. “Yeah? Just—Just follow my lead.”

He inhaled, slow, and exhaled. In and out. In and out. Cool and collected, nice and even. He wasn’t sure if George would listen, but after a few beats, it looked like he was trying to. Dream’s own heart was quieting with each deep breath, and huh, he hadn’t thought it’d actually be effective. _In and out. In and out._

“You’re getting it, you’re doing good,” Dream praised as George’s heaves were slowing. “I’m gonna—I’ll get over to you, okay? Just keep—yeah.”

Dream rose to his feet, making sure to not make any fast movements, and started approaching him. He’d stop whenever George’s breathing would hitch, and continue when it’d settle down, all the while giving him an example to match. Eventually, he was in front of him, and he crouched down, careful to observe his reactions. While it was still far from steady and calm, George wasn’t on the verge of suffocating anymore, and his dazed eyes, still trained on Dream’s face, were no longer as wide.

Alright, well, this was progress, and he’d take any.

God, this was so weird. Dream was completely out of his element here. When the only human interactions in your life were with merchants and people trying to murder you, that didn’t do wonders for your, well… this. Whatever this was. A strange sensation had nestled somewhere in his chest, uncomfortable, and he wanted it gone. It crawled up his throat and dug in, more biting by the moment. Clawing at it wouldn’t help, he knew that, and yet still keeping his hands at bay was difficult.

He was fine, this was fine, it wouldn’t take long, it was all _fine_ —

“Do you have any regen or health potions?” Dream blurted out. He needed to distract himself. And he was pretty sure this much venom could still be fatal even without the cardiac arrest part.

“Um, I—don’t know,” George mumbled, shutting his eyes as a flash of pain crossed his expression.

Dream did a quick scan, and yeah, that had been a stupid question. He didn’t. And Dream had used up all of his. No antidote either.

“We’re gonna have to get you out of here,” Dream said, positioning his mask on the side of his head. Simply having it closer helped. “I’ll need one of your torches for that.”

George didn’t protest as Dream retrieved the wooden stick and a match to light it from his person. In fact, he wasn’t reacting much to anything. His eyes hadn’t opened and his shoulders were drooping, head unsteady. _No, wait, hold on—_

“Hey!” Dream gave him a slight slap, startling him. “Don’t fall asleep.”

George hummed in a non-committal way, though tried to not close his eyes again, not really looking at anything. The poison was far from done attacking him, and if he lost consciousness now, regaining it would be difficult. If not impossible.

“C’mon, let’s get you up,” Dream said as he hooked George’s arm over his neck and wrapped his own around George’s side, pulling him to his feet. Having two free hands to hold him up would make this much easier, but he doubted George would be able to carry the torch himself.

Once up, he repositioned his arm into a more secure grip, and rattled George a bit. “We’re gonna start walking now, alright? Lean onto me if you need to.”

Besides a murmur, George didn’t answer, but listened.

Their pace was painstakingly slow, what with George struggling to make his legs work. Still, he was trying to, and Dream took comfort in that. The exertion from borderline-carrying him was taking a toll on Dream, though, and the pain in his head had settled into a steady pounding. It’d be amazing if he got a concussion on top of everything.

If both of them made it out of these caverns alive, he’d go to the nearest town and rent out the most expensive room with the softest bed. Screw saving money, he’d deserve a goddamn reward for this bullshit.

When George’s feet began dragging more, Dream shook him.

“Don’t sleep,” he warned.

“Can’t,” he grumbled in response.

Dream cast him a look. He had his eyes half-open, and they kept fluttering shut. His breaths were quieting, too.

“Talk to me, George, don’t sleep,” Dream commanded, and suppressed a flinch at how a tinge of desperation leaked through. He hadn’t intended for that.

“‘Bout what?”

Well, shit, Dream didn’t know. He hadn’t exactly had many casual conversations in his life.

“Um,” he said smartly. “What’s your favorite color?”

He wanted to hit himself. What kind of stupid question was that? Were they, what, children? No one had favorite colors at this age, _for god’s sake._

George hummed, swaying his head from side to side. “...Blue.”

Okay, well, his stupid question got an answer, so there was that.

“Blue? That’s kinda basic,” Dream huffed out a laugh. He didn’t know if it was basic. He didn’t have a favorite color at this age. It felt basic.

“I guess,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.

Dream exhaled a shuddering breath. It was rather cold in this tunnel they were taking. At least it was going upwards.

He shook George again. “Why blue?”

It was another stupid question. But there was no one around to judge him, at least.

George sighed, and looked somewhere off to the side, before settling back onto the ground. “I… can see it.”

So he was still delirious. That response made no sense.

A response was a response, though.

“Do you, uh, like sky blue, or—I dunno, ocean?”

Dream wasn’t sure why he was so caught up on the whole color thing, but if he let it go, he’d have to come up with another conversation topic. And if his first was anything to go by, it wouldn’t be anything substantial either.

And if the whole color thing got George to talk, well. It’d do.

The caves were cold, but the body against him was warm, and the contrast made his heart beat weird. Having a person this close without either trying to maim the other was… unusual. To put it mildly. He wasn’t equipped with dealing with non-life-threatening closeness. His hold around George’s waist was awkward, it didn’t fit, their whole position was wholly out of place. God, couldn’t have George gotten himself attacked by a pack of _normal_ spiders? Dream would have known how to handle that. He would have mocked George for his recklessness and needing to be saved by _Dream_. Oh, that would have been fun.

This? Dream wasn’t sure what the hell _this_ was.

Their trek through the caverns was a slow and exhausting one. He had to pull up George onto various cliffs, push through narrow passageways, stop him from tripping on various rocks, and avoid mobs at all costs. All the while keeping George awake and himself up. This cave system was a big one—anyone could get lost in a heartbeat. Dream wanted to believe he was going the right way. Since they couldn’t take the route they had before (surviving those spiders again would be pushing their luck a bit too much), Dream had to hope the tunnels would connect. Dream had to hope for a lot of things.

Eventually, though, they got into an area Dream could vaguely recognize. That was a good sign, and from there he could try retracing his steps. George was barely responding by that point. If his friends weren’t anywhere close, this would soon turn sour.

“We’re almost there,” he murmured into the air. Not sure whether for George or himself.

As they traversed farther through the tunnels that were now familiar, Dream picked up a sound up ahead. Muffled and unclear, but it was _voices._ Never before had Dream been so relieved to hear other people. That usually meant danger, but now?

_Fucking finally._

When they were close enough, right around the corner, Dream could tell they weren’t having a pleasant conversation. Worry laced their words, as it was expected, and Dream halted before they got too near. It’d be a bit of a disaster if the two others saw them like this—they would probably assume something much different from what had actually happened. Dream would too, after all.

“George, hey, look up,” he whispered, shaking George. “Do you see that light up there?”

George lifted his head, slowly, and hummed.

“You need to get over there. Think you can do that?”

George sighed and murmured something. Sounded like disagreement.

Dream tested the waters by shifting George’s weight onto his own feet. They immediately buckled, and Dream pulled him back up again before he hit the ground. Yeah, no, he couldn’t as much as stand, much less walk.

“Alright, plan B,” he mumbled.

He lowered George to the floor and leaned him against the wall. If he couldn’t get George to his friends, he’d need to bring his friends _to_ George.

Now, to attract their attention.

Dream stepped back and threw the torch next to George. The already dying flame went out, but, hopefully, the sound of wood hitting rock echoed enough. Quickly and quietly, he retreated out of the passageway into the darkness where he crouched behind a larger boulder and watched. Soon, the voices and the lights grew, and he heard how the pair ran over, exclaiming. They got into his line of sight as they dropped down next to the barely conscious George. Bad examined his wounds as Sapnap began rummaging through his backpack, both exchanging instructions and questions.

Dream exhaled a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his shoulders slump.

This had been much more than he had bargained for, but it was okay. George wouldn’t remember, Dream would forget, and the next time they’d meet, it’d be as if nothing had happened, and Dream would know normalcy again.

He moved farther back into the shadows, away from the trio.

Yeah, this was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo i hope u enjoyed reading this :] It'd be super appreciated if you told me what you thought in the comments!! I always respond and I love reading your reactions ❤️  
> (just to clarify, yes, George doesn't, in fact, remember the majority of the events)
> 
> Also omg [technoblacle on tumblr](https://technoblacle.tumblr.com/post/637385618339545088/these-fics-i-read-recently-have-been-on-my-mind) drew a lil something something so y'all better check it out like right now go go go, i cannot describe how much i appreciate stuff like this, my heart is m e l t i n g
> 
> Speaking of tumblr, [I have one too](https://yumgrapejuice.tumblr.com/) under the same name :] I would absolutely love to chat, I'm always down to talk, and I'd really like to get to know y'all :]]] I may also post stuff, like, sneak peeks and such 😳😳😳 just fyi 😳😳😳
> 
> Thank u sm for reading <3 I can't say how often I'll update, but it will probably be on Sundays, so :]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!!:D
> 
> I have returned with yet another instalment for this EPIC and THRILLING story. SO UNEXPECTED!!! So be sure to SUBSCRIBE if you don't want to miss when I add yet another instalment for this totally EPIC and THRILLING story
> 
> But seriously, thank you all so much again for all your support ❤️❤️ Your comments literally make my day and FUEL me. I love you all sm ❤️❤️
> 
> Hope u enjoy, i died writing this ye
> 
> also, sorry if you got two notifs for this, i had some issues oops

“Oh wait, hold on, this could work.”

George cast Bad a glance from where he was sorting out string on the other side of their little hole in the wall. They were spending the night there, and Bad was in the middle of his daily scouring session. Sometimes, George felt bad for leaving all the work to him. Then he’d remember he tried once and led them in the opposite direction. That made him stop feeling as bad.

“Found something?” Sapnap asked between bites of steak. It hadn’t been long since they’d eaten but this was what Sapnap liked to refer to as “midnight snacking”. Even though the sun had barely set yet.

“Not found, just noticed,” Bad said whilst tapping the laid out map. His lips had stretched into an excited albeit tentative smile, and he beckoned to Sapnap. George stayed by his strings, idly listening. “Look at this. If we keep going in the same direction, we’ll soon reach Taswell.”

“Oh shit, we’re that close?” Sapnap marveled as he wiped off his hands on his shirt and scooched over to Bad.

“Language! But yes. It’s likely he plans to travel along the border here—” Bad trailed on the paper. “—and cross into the Wailing Swamps. That’s the most logical pathing.”

“Ugh, it’ll be impossible to track him there,” Sapnap groaned, throwing his head back. “Bad, _please_ tell me the good news now.”

Swamps were, indeed, known to be one of the shittiest biomes for finding people. And this one was notorious for swallowing up travelers without a trace. George suppressed a frown. They couldn’t afford to lose Dream this fast, especially after the bastard himself threw them a bone. That’d be laughable, and George refused to give him any more reason to laugh.

He’d already given him _plenty_ , and the mere thought made him bristle.

“The good news is that we know how he’ll get there,” Bad beamed. “See this river here? To get to the swamps, he’d have to cross it somewhere, it’s far too dangerous to swim through. We can rule out the entire Taswell area, which leaves us—” He tapped on a few places. “—these bridges here. However!” he continued before Sapnap had a chance to intervene. He liked to do that. “We could catch up to him if he were to take any of these—they’re more convenient for us than him—so the only one that he’d _certainly_ cross before us is this one. And I’m betting my money he won’t be taking any chances.”

Bad was smiling, and Sapnap scrunched up his face at him.

“Alright, I’ll bite, how’s that good for us?”

“We’re getting there before him.”

“Isn’t… the whole point that we can’t?”

“Normally, we wouldn’t, but,” Bad rummaged through his bag and took out another map, a darker one, and spread it over the first one. “Taswell has a Nether travel system.”

George paused his string sorting, perking up. He’d never used one of those before, given how expensive and rare they were, so the prospect of finally experiencing one was enticing. Still, though, it made him curious. Bad sure was adamant about this. They’d have to spend almost all their remaining savings on getting there, which was a risky move in and of itself. Not to mention the issue with _Taswell._

Dream would avoid it for a reason, after all.

“Uh, you want _us_ to go to Taswell?” Sapnap voiced George’s thoughts, eyebrows risen. “Not to question your planning skills or anything, but how are we supposed to go against Dream without _weapons_?”

“They don’t prohibit _all_ weaponry,” Bad responded, a bit meek. “Bows and blunt knives are okay.”

“Oh yeah, the butter knives will for sure make him quake in his boots.”

George couldn’t push down a snort. “Who knows, maybe cutlery is the way to go. Imagine terrorizing him with forks. That’d for sure break a man.”

“Perhaps,” Bad giggled before sobering up. “But I was thinking… We don’t necessarily need to fight him.”

“What, you want to set up a trap or something?” Sapnap asked, dubious.

“Well, not _exactly_ ,” Bad spoke as he began going through a pouch. “I think we should take the chance to finally plant this.”

He took out a small, less than an inch wide black disc, and held it up carefully between his fingers.

George’s heart thudded quicker.

“Oh!” Sapnap brightened, an excited grin on his face. “Are we gonna finally initiate Mission: Fuck You, Dream?”

“Language, Sapnap.”

“Mission: Screw you, Dream?”

Bad sighed, shaking his head. He ignored Sapnap and continued, “Since the compass finished calibrating,” _which took way too long and we were totally scammed_ was left unsaid, “we should really try to get this on him before he gets to the swamps. This might be our only opportunity to do so.”

Even if that meant spending the remainder of their coin in the attempt.

Honestly, the other annoying thing about hunting down Dream was how expensive it could get. All of their previous jobs wouldn’t usually take more than a few weeks, so besides necessities, such as repairs and the occasional potion, they wouldn’t need much money. Which was good, considering their contractors never gave them any in advance. Dream’s was no different. In George’s humble opinion, that was utter bullshit. For some reason, they believed hunters could live off of air or something. “ _Not my problem_ ,” they’d say. “ _No upfront payment_.”

That was how this whole business operated. Maybe it was scummy, but they couldn’t do much about it.

It was a few months ago when Bad proposed they acquired a tracking compass.

Now, that stuff was ridiculously pricey. Not to mention practically non-existent. Something about legality? It took them going down many shady alleys, meeting many shady folk, and getting nearly stabbed several times because they had the wrong accent to finally get themselves one of those compasses. A broken one, though, mind you. Instead of looking for a working one, Bad proposed they tried getting it fixed instead. _That_ was a whole other pain. The enchanter they tracked down that could get it up and running again charged them an outrageous amount, but they didn’t have any other choice. By the end of it, they were left with barely any change, but they had been getting desperate.

It wouldn’t do them any good if they couldn’t set it up, though.

George refused to lose Dream and let him make a mockery out of them ( _him_ ) again.

Even if he had to shove the tracker down his damn throat.

He’d like to shove something very sharp down his throat, too.

That was an unusually hostile thought, and George had to take a moment to still himself, closing his eyes and taking a breath. Getting aggravated would only make him careless, and that would only lead to mistakes.

No doubt that was what Dream was hoping for. Carelessness induced by spite or _something_ else.

George would not give him the satisfaction, that much he was certain of.

If Dream believed something so stupid would have an effect on him, he was _way_ in over his head.

So instead of entertaining these thoughts further, George stood up and walked over to where Bad and Sapnap were discussing potential strategies. He sat in front and examined the map too, thinking.

So, if they travelled through Taswell, they would have to give away their main weapons for holding (politics or something; George never paid close attention to those). There were no towns close to the bridge that weren’t in Taswell, so they couldn’t buy new ones after exiting either (not that they’d even have the funds for that after the Nether). Meaning, a fight was out of the question. Traps? It’d have to be one that’d hold him long enough to plant the thing, which would… look suspicious as hell.

There had to be something. He’d met Dream a week ago, and while he’d rather not think about it any more than he had to, surely he could use some information from that?

...He wondered.

“Hey, Bad?” George spoke, interrupting the discussing whether bear traps were a genius or an absolutely idiotic idea. “Can you show me the path he’s been taking from the town we were at?”

“Oh, sure,” Bad shifted closer and, after locating the starting point, trailed up the map recalling each spot they’d found Dream’s presence at. “Pretty sure he should be around here now.” He circled a small area. “Unless he travelled through the night.”

George hummed, inspecting the trail. It all winded through forests and plains and general wilderness. Asides from the village they’d met, there were no others on or close to Dream’s pathing.

He hadn’t had a shield with him that last time.

And given the lack of places to acquire a new one, he probably was still without it. A small detail, really, but George latched onto it.

A shieldless Dream was a more cautious Dream.

He could use that.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

~

Taswell’s walls were huge.

How could one country afford to enclose their entire land was beyond George. Well, maybe they didn’t, but from the entry point they’d reached, the black bricks stretched in both directions into the horizon. He’d known Taswell was obsessed with security, but this seemed like a bit of an overkill.

The guards by the gate were cheerful, contrasting with the mood George had been getting thus far. When he’d first saw the walls, he worried whether they’d even be let inside, but that wasn’t an issue. Apparently, Taswell was a hot tourist destination or something. Their new Nether system also attracted a lot of attention. For most, passing in and out wasn’t a problem. The problem arose for people like the three of them.

They were led into a storage room of sorts within the thick walls where they had to lay down all their inventory. Bad filed out a document, naming their weaponry before most of it was tagged with numbers and taken away. In return, they received a paper with details regarding the storing of their weapons.

“We shall be holding these items until your return or for two weeks,” one of the guards informed them. “This paper is your proof of ownership.”

Yeah, Taswell wasn’t big on the whole fighting thing.

Thinking about it, it’d be rather funny if Dream would just… settle down here. Now _that_ would be a strategy. What would the hunters be able to do? Ask him to come with them very nicely? Get the local authorities involved and get dragged away themselves because _why the hell are you terrorizing this man?_ Dream would love to see that, no doubt, from his little porch with a little cat and a little rocking chair.

He’s too much of a blood-loving antsy bastard, though.

Even if he did try to hide in such a country, George would get to him one way or the other. He’d yank him out of it by his hair if he had to.

“Thank goodness they let us keep our bows,” Bad sighed as they were making their way towards a city in the distance. “I was getting worried there for a second.”

“Yeah, we’d have needed to resort to plan B,” Sapnap said with a nod.

George lifted a brow at him. “Which is?”

Sapnap grinned, and he already disliked where this was going. “George in drag.”

That earned him a hard shove.

“What, it’d work! Grade A distraction.”

“You are so annoying.”

“While I think it’s good to consider options outside the box, maybe let’s stick to what wouldn’t leave George unarmed,” Bad chipped in with a sheepish laugh.

“He wouldn’t be unarmed, he could have, like, a few forks strapped to his thigh—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” George groaned. “Why is this even a conversation, we have our bows.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, it’s a option we can have on the table,” Sapnap said, lifting his hands up in defense, with a stupid smile on his face.

“Let’s get back on track, you muffins,” Bad chastised them before George could shoot back. “We should start asking for directions.”

That was easier said than done, given the heavy accents the people of this place had. Still, after some confusing directions and going around in circles for a good hour, they got to their destination. A large glass dome at the edge of the city, surrounded by a few rounds of walls, heavily armed guards patrolling every inch. With how tight security was in this whole country, it was no surprise the Nether portals would be guarded with twice as much. Again, not that that was a problem for travel. It was, after all, less for the people and more for… whatever was on the other side.

At the entrance, there was a bit of a queue. Folk wishing to travel ranged from politicians to adventurers to tourists, all of them stacked. Only a few were being let in at a time, so it took awhile for their turn to come. Passage to their desired portal hurt their coin pouches dearly, and George cringed. They’d have to take on some odd jobs after this for sure.

As they were led through the dome, the instructor droned on about safety measures and rules they had to abide by, such as “ _follow your guide, don’t shout, stay on the designated paths_ ” and many more. Most of it was intuitive. Some not as much. “ _Don’t cat-call any piglins, they don’t like it. Zombified ones don’t mind it as much, but it’s still not recommended_ ” in particular made George wonder _what the fuck_ kind of circumstances had led to such a precaution. Or maybe it was better to not know.

He also didn’t want to know how many took the “ _zombified ones don’t mind it as much_ ” part and ran with it.

“Whoa, that’s pretty,” Bad marveled once the portal finally came into view and they walked the charred ground to it.

It wasn’t anything impressive, really. Or, at least, not as impressive as George had thought it’d be. He’d expected bigger, for something that promised a whole other dimension, but instead they got something barely enough for two people. The pulsating blue _was_ beautiful, though. It looked like it’d taste like blueberry jelly.

While the instructor was chatting up their guide by the portal as the woman checked her equipment, Sapnap was eyeing the thick frame. It was a shiny, jagged thing, with many bumps and protrusions, and once the two locked gazes, George’s stare turned narrow. Sapnap grinned, his fingers twitching, and George shook his head in warning.

Sapnap had never been one to care, though, and he lifted his hand to touch the dark obsidian, gleeful. Upon contact, though, he yanked it back with a yelp.

“Shit, that’s hot,” he hissed, sucking on his burnt skin.

George rolled his eyes as Bad once again told him off for swearing. “You deserved that.”

“I said not to touch anything,” the instructor remarked, unamused.

“I thought you meant inside,” Sapnap huffed. “How was I supposed to know it’d burn?”

“We are literally standing on scorched ground right now, Sapnap.”

He didn’t respond, just grumbled in displeasure.

Still, he cast the obsidian a longing gaze.

“Alright, ready to go?”

One rip through dimensions later, their group found themselves on the other side. Dry heat assaulted George’s skin the moment they stepped out, and he couldn't stop himself from coughing at the dusty air. An acidic fog hung around them, digging into his eyes and skewing his vision. It didn’t help that everything was so damn _bleak_ , murky greys blurring together into a mesh of black _._

He’d been excited at first, but all it took was a minute to hate it.

Low squealing and growling caught George’s attention, and he snapped to the side to see their guide bringing in a couple of large hogs from a fenced area. They looked like they could rip you in half with one bite, and yet the woman was tugging on their leashes without any concern.

“This will be our ride to your destination,” she drawled.

“Or our ride to death,” George remarked, unsettled.

“Keep your hands away from their mouths and you’ll be fine.”

The group shared glances with each other. Sapnap shrugged.

Would they get a refund if any of them got mauled?

“No refunds, but you _would_ need to pay a fine for upsetting the hoglins,” the woman answered George’s silent question, making him flinch. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Everyone asks that.”

It was a bit unnerving.

Bad got onto one of the hogs with the guide while Sapnap and George were left to share the second one. After a bit of squabbling and Bad reprimanding them, George conceded and let Sapnap have the first seat. He stuck his tongue out at George, earning an eye-roll in response.

Their water reserves dwindled quickly. George suspected it wasn’t only due to them always drinking; in this heat, no water could remain for long. Probably. Add that to why the Nether only _sounded_ cool. While Bad chatted up the guide about this place, fascinated by the history and their treaties with the piglins, George was left with Sapnap. The only thing _they_ shared between them were complaints.

The sights of huge lava pools, dark netherrack mountains and blue forests were neat, though. The black brick path they were following was one that winded through all of those, and George tried to distract himself from the scorching air by looking around. Once in awhile they’d spot a pack of piglins treading into caves, pickaxes swung over their shoulders, and they didn't pay their group any mind. Some others pulled carts full of gold. Those were warier and would glare until they went out of sight.

“What _would_ happen if I cat-called them?” Sapnap wondered, observing a few of them mining. “Like, just whistle?”

“Probably the same as always,” George responded, dry. “They’d attempt to tear your eyes out.”

“Hey, that happened only _twice_ —”

“Most people would get the hint after the first time.”

“At least I try,” Sapnap sniffled.

“Your tries put everyone around you in danger, somehow.”

“Alright, then how’d _you_ do it, Georgie?” he asked, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

George frowned. “Do what?”

“Oh, you know what _._ ”

Sapnap was grinning now, and that usually didn’t lead anywhere good.

“I really do not.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

George huffed and gave Sapnap a shove, almost enough to topple him off the hoglin. “I _really_ do not. You are delusional.”

“ _I’m_ delusional.”

“Yes.”

Sapnap laughed. “Alright, George. One day I’ll get your secret.”

He wouldn’t. _God,_ George hoped he wouldn’t.

Not that it even was a secret, really. He simply preferred not to mention it. Nothing would change if he did, after all. Yeah, he’d acted like an idiot, yeah, he hadn’t been cautious enough, _yeah_ , he probably shouldn’t have let Dream walk free, but he knew all that already. Them getting annoyed at him would just sour everyone’s moods and that’d be that.

He’d have to explain the spider incident, too. Which, frankly, he himself wasn’t too sure about either. A weak argument in his case at best.

And after the initial irritation settled, Sapnap would no doubt never let him live _whatever the hell happened_ down. George did not need that sort of public embarrassment in his life. He was doing a great job at bashing himself without anyone’s help, _thank you_.

What mattered was that it wouldn’t happen again. Everything else was irrelevant.

(Maybe George was unwilling to face the consequences of his actions, but no one would be, honestly.)

After what felt like an eternity, the next portal station came into view, and the group sighed in relief. Even Sapnap had grown quiet at some point, as the heat became borderline unbearable. They were all overjoyed to finally scramble through the portal back to the overworld.

Never again would George take cool, fresh air for granted.

Alright, phase one, done.

Now onto the _actual_ challenge.

~

Thankfully, there were plenty of trees around the bridge.

George sighed from the branch he was perched on, changing positions. The sun was nearing the horizon, and they were banking on the hope that Dream would want to pass into the swamps before nightfall. They had nothing to go off of besides Bad’s calculations, but in theory, he _should_ be close.

He should have been close a few hours ago, too. George’s legs were killing him.

George cast a glance to the general direction where he knew Sapnap was. The lushness hid both of them well, but if he tried, he could spot some black and white. Their gazes met, and Sapnap grimaced. Bad, too, on the other side of the river was most likely not having the time of his life.

(Even if Dream did have a shield, which was what Bad and Sapnap believed, blocking from both ends would be tricky. Bad and Sapnap had some reservations, but since no one put up a better plan, they just had to hope luck would be on their side. And George had to hope he was right.)

Still, stakeouts were nothing new to them. Maybe not with Dream (the bastard wasn’t predictable enough), but usually, that was how a lot of hunts ended. Wait until the target reached the desired area, surprise attack them, and there you had it. Another paycheck, secured. A part of George entertained the thought that maybe, they’d get lucky this time as well. Maybe they wouldn’t need to go through the extra steps, maybe it would be enough for once.

But when was it ever enough with _Dream_?

Something in his throat stuttered, and George bit the sourness down. _Not now, dammit._

Focus, focus, focus.

It’d be fine.

When George began considering calling it for the night—maybe Dream had decided to wait until the next day—a rustling intermixed with other forest sounds, a crack of a branch, and George tensed. He shifted positions to get a clearer look, wincing at how his knees complained. Soon enough, a figure emerged at the other side, strolling towards the bridge at a relaxed pace, hands in his pockets. The only missing thing was some humming. Now wouldn’t _that_ be a picture.

He didn’t have a shield. Okay, good. George was right. Okay.

Heart stammering, he took a slow breath and nocked an arrow into his bow, quiet.

Dream stepped onto the bridge.

Another breath, he pulled the string back. George could almost hear Sapnap doing the same.

In theory, they could just try shooting him.

Maybe Dream wouldn’t be quick enough. Maybe it’d land.

High risk, high reward sort of thing.

But for once, banking on _maybe_ wasn’t enough.

The risk this time was too high.

So instead, once Dream was at the halfway point, three arrows flew and dug into the wood around his feet, two in front, one in back.

Dream froze.

If they had tried to shoot him, perhaps one would have hit him, but he would have run. He would have run, and with nothing but their bows, they couldn’t chase him. This, though, was a warning to be still. And they needed him still.

A second arrow already in place, George jumped from the tree. A moment later, he was standing in front of the bridge, the string pulled back, aiming at the target ahead.

“Not another step, Dream.”

For a beat, nothing but the whispering of leaves and the rushing water filled the air. The two stared at each other, fixed in place, and George wondered whether he really was right.

Slowly, Dream removed his hands from his pockets and let them hang by his side.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he spoke, voice even. A good sign.

“Unexpected much?”

“A bit.” He shifted on his feet. “What, did you _sprint_?”

He’d never admit he was underestimating them. Even now, he’d find a way to mock.

George wouldn’t rise to the bait, though.

“You’re not getting to the swamps, Dream,” he said cooly.

A pause.

“Where’re your friends?” he asked. He must have been scanning the trees behind that mask of his. “Letting you face me by yourself is just cold.”

Of course he’d rather have them all in his vision. Provocations wouldn’t work, though.

“I’m not here to fight you,” George responded with a half-shrug. “In fact, I’d like to have your weapons, Dream.”

He huffed. “Right. Trying to level out the playing field?”

George was silent.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

It was no surprise he did. Rarely did anything pass by Dream, and his opponent’s lack of weaponry wouldn’t either.

“It doesn’t matter if you did,” George said with a quirk of his brow. “If you don’t want to get shot, you’ll listen to me.” He paused. “I might just shoot you anyway, though.”

“Even if I listen?”

“Yes.”

“Why’s that, Georgie?”

George levelled him with a glare. The bastard. He _knew_ why _._

“Because you’re just so fucking annoying.”

Dream laughed, and barely missed the arrow aimed at his shoulder.

George knew he was wasting them as he nocked another in, but he did not care.

“The next one will land.”

“Alright, alright,” Dream conceded, raising his hands up a bit in surrender. He still sounded too confident for George’s liking. “We can talk about this, though.”

“No, Dream. Stop stalling.”

“I’m not.”

“Right. Weapons, now. I’m not repeating myself again.”

Dream’s shoulders were tense. That was the only sign he didn’t like his situation. Without his shield, getting through this narrow bridge without suffering several hits was almost impossible. They were good shots, too. George knew all this, and Dream knew all this.

George’s whole hope was that Dream would see reason.

Slowly, he began reaching up to his axe and unhooked it. The same with his crossbow. He placed them on the ground and, with some force, slid them towards George.

So far, so good.

At that, Sapnap landed from his tree, and from the corner of his eye, George could see him approach the bridge. His bow was lowered, but not put away. George moved to the side so Sapnap wouldn’t block his view of Dream and observed him as Sapnap began gathering the weapons.

“Your bag, too,” George said.

Dream snorted. “What, is this a robbery now?”

“Gotta milk you for what you’re worth,” Sapnap responded with a shrug.

“Are you seriously that broke?”

“You really need to shut up, Dream,” George warned before Sapnap could jab back. He narrowed his gaze. “You either listen or I’m putting the next one through your eye.”

“You’re not _that_ good,” Dream grunted as he shook off his backpack.

George couldn't keep himself from grinning. From the way Dream froze for a moment it seemed he caught his mistake, too.

“Not _that_ good, huh? Dare to find out?”

Dream didn’t answer, only threw his bag over to Sapnap.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Sapnap chirped, voice awfully sweet, as he backed off the bridge. “Good to know you have _some_ sense.”

Again, he was met with silence. Silence rarely meant anything good for them, and George drifted back in front of him. Sapnap had started going through Dream’s things to the side, but George kept his eyes trained on Dream, who was staring back. Behind him, George saw Bad jump to the ground, and the two locked gazes. Bad inclined his head towards Dream, and George nodded back. So far, this was going better than they had expected, but tension still plagued George. Dream was motionless as Bad approached him from behind. Once close enough, he put his bow away in favor of searching through his bag.

One second was all it took for Dream to yank an arrow out of the ground and twirl around Bad, securing him in a grip against his chest, the arrowhead pressed against his throat.

One second was always what it fucking took.

“Now, this is better,” Dream remarked, and George could hear the grin in his voice. Bad had latched onto the arm around his shoulders but otherwise didn’t struggle. Their eyes met for a moment and Bad pulled an apologetic face.

As if _he_ had anything to apologize for.

George cringed. God, that was so _careless_ of them, leaving anything sharp around him. But arrows? Seriously?

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Dream spoke as he nudged Bad forward. “You’re gonna back off, put your bows away, I’ll get my stuff and be on my merry way. Everyone’s happy. Sounds good?”

“You as much as scratch him and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Sapnap growled.

Dream laughed. “Mhm, with _what_?”

“My fucking teeth.”

“That’s a bit too rough even for my tastes, sorry, Sapnap.”

Sapnap glanced at George and mouthed “ _what the fuck_ ”.

George could only shrug helplessly, ignoring how he could just feel Dream looking at him.

They stepped off the bridge and Dream began leading them to where his things laid, still facing George and Sapnap. Once near enough, he paused, and said something to Bad. It was too quiet for George to pick up, so instead he watched as Bad scrunched up his face and responded in a murmur. Dream swayed his head to the side, shrugging, before he drove the arrow into Bad’s thigh and pushed him off.

With a cry of pain, Bad stumbled to the ground, and Sapnap took off to him, cursing. George jumped to his discarded bow and took out an arrow, but by that point Dream had swiped up all his items and was taking for the trees. George let the arrow fly anyway. To no one’s surprise, it missed its mark, and Dream disappeared in the forest.

George had half a mind to chase him, but that’d be too stupid even for him. He couldn’t leave an injured Bad behind, either, even if it didn’t look like a serious wound.

_Well, damn._

“Are you okay?” George asked as he jogged up to Bad, who was sitting on ground, hissing, as Sapnap inspected the hit.

“I’m fine,” he breathed out. “It’s shallow enough.”

“It’ll still need bandages,” Sapnap concluded. He looked sour. “That bastard.”

“Language, please,” Bad sighed.

“Sorry,” Sapnap muttered. “That was just such a dirty play.”

“I thought him using an arrow was pretty smart,” Bad remarked. “He sure knows how to make do with anything.”

“Don’t compliment him, Bad,” Sapnap whined.

“Acknowledging your opponent's strengths is important!”

“What did he even say to you?” George wondered.

“Oh, he asked how likely it was that we wouldn’t follow him,” Bad said with a shrug. “I asked what did he think. Guess this was his insurance,” he finished with a meek smile.

“Ugh, he is the absolute worst,” Sapnap groaned. “God, but that’s so annoying! We were close, too!”

“It’s okay, there will be a next time,” Bad said, pulling a small smile and Sapnap and George helped him to his feet. “This was a good attempt. But what about our primary goal, Sapnap?”

Right, because capturing Dream had not, actually, been their main objective. Not that they could have afforded to let him know.

“Oh yeah, I hid the tracker well. He’s not finding it anytime soon.”

“Then it’s a success,” Bad grinned. “Hold on, lemme...”

He reached into his pouch and retrieved the compass. His face brightened.

“Yup, it’s working.”

That was such a bizarre idea.

“May I see it?” George asked.

He didn’t need to, really, but.

“Sure.” Bad handed him the device. “This is exciting!”

“It’ll be exciting when we get that arrow out of you,” Sapnap said, but couldn’t keep himself from smirking. “And then we’ll be on our way to repay _everything_ in full.”

As they walked back towards the walls of Taswell, George grasped the compass and watched as the little red arrow pointed towards the forest, moving slightly from time to time. Couple this little instrument with Bad’s prediction skills, and George understood what Bad meant by “exciting”.

Finally, they’d have an advantage. They’d have something over Dream that he wouldn’t be expecting. He’d continue underestimating them, and they’d make that cockiness work for _them._

George’s hold on the compass tightened. _Yeah, I’ll make you regret it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: awh nice some more dnf  
> me: haha worldbuilding go brr
> 
> Couldn't help it, I wanna establish the setting better:)) i suffered so much writing this tho. i am simply not smart enough for this shit oh my god
> 
> I'd really really appreciate it if you told me what you thought, though!! u can also hit me up on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yumgrapejuice), i crave interactions and i will love u
> 
> Hope u enjoyed and until next time:))


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